


Far From Home

by aboutafox



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, At least I think it's a slow burn, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Forget About the Comics, Future Fic, Gen, Homecoming, Lots of monsters, Mutual Pining, Mythology References, Popculture References, Post-Canon, Redemption, Roadtrip, Sexual Content, Shanshu Prophecy, Slow Burn, Tropes Hot Tropes, different POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 112,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22953061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aboutafox/pseuds/aboutafox
Summary: The Senior Partners did not take the assassination of Sebassis and his kind lightly. Their demonic hordes retaliated without mercy and left a swath of death and destruction behind. Angel and his team are still struggling for normalcy in LA, when the discovery of an ancient artifact threatens to start the cycle of violence all over again. As word of a nebulous menace travels to the other side of the world, leadership of the Slayer Organization decides to get involved in the case LA one more time. But Buffy and Angel have not spoken in years, and will have to overcome more than mere demons to save the world and make it out of yet another apocalypse alive.
Relationships: Angel & Faith Lehane, Angel (BtVS) & Connor (AtS), Angel/Buffy Summers, Buffy Summers/Other(s), Potential Slayers (BtVS) & Fang Gang (AtS), Spike & Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg & Buffy Summers
Comments: 335
Kudos: 127





	1. Endless Is The Night

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Everything that happened on both shows is valid and canon. The events in the comics are not (because who would want that?). Some concepts and people from the comics have been rescued and interwoven into this story, though. In addition, there are lots of elements that have been inspired by other works of popculture or are willful references to mythology (because who wouldn't want that?). I will list them at the end.
> 
> 2) If you have questions or comments that you would not like to leave here, feel free to come over to tumblr and PM me any time. And because that seems to be a thing these days, also feel free to leave a comment months from now. It's not creepy.
> 
> 4) All my thanks go to thewiggins and andtheyfightcrime for beta-reading.

**BOOK I : DRIFTING**

_The day misspent, the love misplaced, has inside it the seed of redemption. Nothing is exempt from resurrection._ \- Kay Ryan

_Los Angeles, March 14th, 2007_

Sebassis was dead. Helen Brucker was dead. Cyvus Vail was dead. The leader of the Sahrvin Clan dead. Izzy the Devil dead. The Grand Potentate of the Fell Brethren dead. They were all dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

And yet nothing was different.

The world had changed, and it had stayed exactly the same.

Angel sat hunched on a rooftop and stared into the rubble-filled alleys of L.A. He watched the fog billow through the streets, how it crept over buildings, cars, and traffic lights like a thick layer of spilled molasses, suffocating everything underneath. Apartment windows and neon signs sent scattered rays of light into their surroundings. They reflected in the puddles on the pavement, leaving the streets in colored streams of yellow and red. From up here, the city almost looked as it used to, but the smells of everyday life had vanished and instead been replaced by the unyielding stench of burned debris and rot.

Angel strained to hear whether some movement on the ground required his attention. The sirens of police cars and army vehicles cut through the night somewhere off in the distance. There was talk that the state of emergency for greater L.A. would be lifted soon, but then again, those kinds of rumors had been floating around for the better part of the last two years. So far, nothing had gone back to normal. Angel had never expected the assassination of Sebassis and his like to derail the order of things, to create lasting change. He was old enough to know better. What he hadn't been prepared for was the tidal wave of violence and ravage that they'd unleashed unto the city because of their attack. It had drowned everything. Man and demon, rich and poor, the good and the bad. Los Angeles had turned from a city with occasional demon fights into a warzone with occasional remnants of city life. But as the death toll rose higher and the fighting continued, people quickly forgot how and when it had ever started. And nobody asked who was to blame.

A few streets down the block, something toppled over, wood crashed, a car alarm went off. The sound of hasty footsteps clapping on asphalt. The dull thud of a body hitting the ground.

Angel would welcome any altercation tonight. It didn't have to be a demon overlord on the hunt for a new dominion or a supernatural street gang on the prowl for human sacrifice. He would be content with a lowly pickpocketing incident. That wasn't unreasonable. Common crime never let up. Not even in times like these. Especially not in times like these. He wasn't picky. Anything would do as a distraction.

A scream shrilled through the night.

Without looking down, Angel stepped over the ledge of the building. He landed on the top tier of a fire escape stairwell, jumped over the railing, caught a second platform with both hands, and swung to the ground where he came to rest in a crouch. Then he dashed off towards the origin of the sounds.

* * *

The woman was still struggling with her attackers when Angel reached the alley. The coppery scent of her blood hung above them, but judging from her angry screams and kicks, this fight was anything but over.

He'd expected to find vampires or maybe Grappler demons, but the creatures that were attacking the woman were unknown to him. About three feet tall, the demons looked like skinny newts without tails. Their eyes were huge. Shimmery wings protruded from their backs.

The demons paused their assault as Angel approached, staring at him wide-eyed and confused, unsure whether he was on their side or here to steal their prey.

He didn't give them the chance to decide. Before the demons made another move, he jumped at the creature closest to him and ripped it away from the woman. The demon screeched like a bird and tried to bite into Angel's arm. He grabbed its neck with both hands and snapped it. That had been easy enough. Then he lunged at the second creature.

The two demons closest to the woman let go of their prey and started flitting around angrily. They hissed and chirped. Angel pinned the second demon on the ground, pulled out a stake from his coat pocket and plunged it through the creature's chest. They might not have been vampires, but few things in his world survived being impaled.

A high pitched scream ripped through the air, the tone so shrill Angel was sure his eardrums would rupture. He jerked up his hands to cover his ears. The sound spliced through his head, and for a split second, he lost all orientation. Up was down. Down was up. He felt nauseous. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Then the sound changed, and a soft melody began to weave into the screech. An antidote to the poisonous noise. A soft touch after getting hurt. It turned into a song he'd almost forgotten he knew. Old and far away. The sense of homesickness spread in his chest.

The sound got ever softer, like a sweet voice it called to him.

The woman still cowered on the ground. She was younger than he'd initially thought. Her skin and hair shimmered with a golden hue, the color of flax and wheat fields in the midday sun. She breathed heavily from the strain of the fight. There was something familiar about her posture and her motions. It couldn't be. Angel took a step closer and reached out his hand, but the woman scooted backward to get away from him. Her head snapped up, her features distorted in a scowl of disgust.

"What have you done?" she hissed. "After all I did to save the world, this is how you help me?" Her green eyes were drawn together and appeared almost black. The shadows of the alley cut through her face and made her soft features look angular and harsh.

Angel recoiled in shock. He'd never seen Buffy so angry before. "I'm... I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I didn't know."

"Of course, you didn't. You never do." She shifted her position, tension taking hold of her body, like a predator ready to attack. Then she darted forward and slapped him in the face. Hard.

"Look out!" an unfamiliar voice yelled.

Angel felt a cold, slimy grip on his neck, a weight on his back, wet breath against his skin. He whipped around and grabbed the demon that had snuck up on him. Angel ripped the creature off his back and smashed it into the ground where it remained unmoving. Angel sank down onto his knees and then into a seated position, propping his body up with his hands so that he wouldn't topple over.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry!" the same voice as before said.

He couldn't see anything but shadows. He blinked. Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him softly.

"Are you okay?"

He blinked once more. The alley was slowly retaking shape and with it the woman he'd come here for. She was definitely in her thirties. Her russet curls were tied up in a bun on top of her head. Loose strands stood out in every direction. Her face was scratched, there was a cut on her arm, and her clothes were dirty, but judging from the look on her face, she was more concerned for him than for her own well-being. All vestiges of Buffy were gone.

An icy grip clutched Angel's insides, and the mellow sense of homesickness turned into something cold and hard. The feeling of complete loss and despair. The bitterness of failure and shame. He hadn't made the world better. He'd made everything worse.

"Are you okay?" the woman asked again. "The...whatever the hell they were...the rest of them took off. They got pretty scared when you showed up. You seem to have gotten hit with a serious whammy, though."

He shook the thoughts from his head, got up, and reached his hand out to the woman for a second time. "Do you need someone to take you home?"

* * *

"This is me." The woman pointed to a small yellow house. Although many homes in Long Beach had been deserted, this one still appeared welcoming and well taken care of. The lawn was freshly cut, and potted plants stood in a straight row along the drive.

"I'll wait until you're inside. I think you had enough excitement for one night," Angel said.

She smiled at him as her hand wandered to the black and blue lump that had begun to swell on her forehead. "Thank you again," she said. "I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come by."

Behind them, the front door opened, and a man rushed out of the house. "Jesus! Rachel, are you okay? Where were you? I've been worried sick." Confusion and fear washed over his features in equal measure as he tried to make sense of the scene in front of him, Rachel's dirty clothes, the makeshift bandage on her arm, the stranger. He looked at Angel, then back at Rachel. "Who? Rach, what happened?"

Rachel started to shake and let herself fall into the man's arms. The stress of the previous hour was getting to her now. "Anwar...I got...I was attacked. It was horrible. This is Angel. He saved me."

Angel could still hear the fragments of the introduction. Yet, before the woman and the man could tie him down in an extended conversation or offer their gratitude, he silently moved away and disappeared into the dark. He didn't deserve any of that.

  
  
  



	2. Down In The Dark

_ Los Angeles, about two months later  _

After an hour of wandering through the tunnels, Vi decided to pick up speed.

The Kota demons had to be down here somewhere. They'd been tracking the creatures for more than a week. Ever since the rumors began spreading in local bars. Rumors about strange things that were happening under the city. About demons gathering in tunnels below L.A. About the excavation of a weapon. It was Kota their sources had said, but nobody offered any more details. The Kota were famously reclusive. A nocturnal demon species that lived deep in the earth and rarely ventured above ground. They didn't mingle. 

Vi wanted to get this hunt over with. It was probably their last big job in L.A. She had been scheduled to return to New York months ago, but then it had never been the right time. Something always came up. Another demon lair to raid. Another nascent cult to stop from stealing first-borns. 

Slayer Organization Headquarters had started the organized withdrawal of their teams from the disaster zone in the previous year. The New York and Chicago squads had been next in line two times already, but two times they'd declined and offered their spots to another group of Slayers and Watchers instead. Some thought they were noble and generous. Others thought they were reckless and bloodthirsty. 

Three years ago, their squads had been the first to arrive in Los Angeles when the demon armies had overrun the city. After the assassination of the Circle of the Black Thorne, the Senior Partners had retaliated by unleashing forces unto L.A. that even Dante could not have made up. Thousands of demons had ravaged the city for months until Angel's team, the Slayers, and two divisions of the U.S. Army had finally won the upper hand. Even demons didn't do well against rocket launchers and tanks in the end. The story among Slayers was that it had been one of Vi's famous hunches that had led them right into the middle of the biggest battle the United States had seen since the Civil War. They said that the NYC squad considered themselves elite because they had been on the ground during those early days when it rained fire, and the onslaught of demon hordes never stopped. 

Neither tale was true.

Rona caught up with Vi and fell in step with her sister Slayer. Jules and Kaori, the two younger members of their team, were still behind. 

"You know we could just ask the boys to take over this case. They don't need us anymore. It's time we head out," Rona said. "And maybe it's just me, but I'm tired of crawling through tunnels and debris looking for cockroaches the size of compact cars. I need a vacation. Badly."

"The demons we're tracking actually resemble giant mole-rats," Vi noted without paying much attention to her friend's complaints.

Vi and Rona had had this conversation several times before, and Rona was right, of course. Angel and his team could take care of L.A. on their own at this point. They still exchanged intel on demon activity with each other and coordinated their patrols, but the city didn't  _ need  _ two dozen monster hunters anymore. The fighting had subsided enough for the Hyperion crew to get by.

The Slayers turned another corner. Nothing. Vi had been sure they were on the right trail. The girls spread out and searched the ground for more tracks. They didn't even need their flashlights. Down here, the walls of the tunnels emitted a strange blue light as if they'd been coated by glow-in-the-dark paint. Maybe it was some type of fungus? Or some crazy case of bio-fluorescence? Beyond the shimmer on the walls the tunnels were completely empty. They hadn't come across a single demon. Nor a cockroach for that matter. It was cool down here, and quiet, the only sound was the plop of water drops that fell from the vaulted ceilings every now and then. 

Vi put her hand on the tunnel wall and moved it over the hard stone. A layer of glowing dust stuck to her fingers and her palm. She took a closer look at her hand when a strange smell hit her. A breeze of fresh air in the dank and musty tunnel. As if someone had tried to cover the scent of old earth with citrus car fresheners. She felt queasy. Then it was gone.

"Ro?" Vi held up her hand for the other girl to see. "Do you think this is natural?"

"No, I think it's unnatural. An unnatural pain in the ass." 

"These tunnels. Aren't they oddly shaped? As if someone made them on purpose?"

"What do you mean? Someone made them? Like termites? Giant termites? Oh god, let it not be termites." Rona shuddered in disgust.

They continued walking, took another corner, and then the tunnel opened up into a large cave in front of them. Possibly two or three stories tall, the walls suddenly rose high. The cave was deep and tapered off into another tunnel opening on its far side. They quietly crossed the hall, fists, and stakes raised, making sure no demons or termites were creeping up from behind. A sickly sweet smell wavered around them, making Vi wish the lemon scent had stuck around. Jules covered her nose and mouth with her bandana.

"Is that a door?" Kaori asked.

Two ten-foot stone slabs framed the passage, but unlike the rest of the cave, these stones were of a lighter material. They were covered in scratches and had been discolored by ash and soot. Below and next to them, drag marks pitted the ground. Someone had desperately tried to get in here and succeeded. 

Rona put her hand on one of the stones and started wiping off a fine layer of dust. Several shapes came to the surface. Three triangles intertwined. Other signs that were more intricate. Kaori pulled a small point-and-shoot camera from her pant-pocket and took a picture. The smell was almost unbearable now. Vi had encountered this particular stench often during the last years. She braced for the worst.

A low cracking sound echoed in the dark beyond the entrance. Vi stepped around one of the stones and peered into the cave in front of them. The fluorescent light was much less pervasive there, making it nearly impossible to see beyond the first few yards. Something shimmered on the ground.

"Hey! Can you guys help me light that space before we go inside? I'd really rather see what's expecting us," Vi called over to the other Slayers.

Rona and Jules took out their flashlights and pointed them towards the dark and dingy hall. 

A gasp cut through the silence.

In front of them lay dozens of demons. Large heads with tiny ears, tiny eyes, and long snouts, their forearms ending in huge shovel-shaped claws.

All of them were dead.

* * *

Vi leaned back from the mid-century table and inspected her drawing. This was the third time she had started over. Kaori's pictures from the cave had come out too blurry and too dark, making it nearly impossible to decipher any of the signs on the stone doors. In an effort to save their intel Vi had sat down to reproduce the symbol, hard as she tried though, none of her scribbles ever seemed right. She just hoped they would suffice as a clue for someone who knew more about hieroglyphics than her. Maybe one of the Watchers at Headquarters could figure it out. Giles and Carol Potter were well versed in ancient languages. They'd been in the job much longer than Martin, the last remaining Watcher in L.A. She tried to recall if it was Jake Mara who had a master's in archaeology. Maybe he would be their guy.

After they had come back up from the cave, Rona had suggested handing the case over to Angel one more time. And Vi had wanted to take a pass, she really had. But as the days progressed without any progress, Vi couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, that they'd overlooked an important detail. And that feeling had stuck with her like a piece of gum under her shoe, nagging her every step that she took. Vi had talked to SOHQ this morning, telling them about what they had found and that they just needed a little more time in L.A. Rowena hadn't said much in return, but had made a huffy noise instead. Being a former squad leader herself, she understood that Vi felt responsible, but as the Slayer in charge of unit planning, her patience was wearing thin. Vi knew leadership was planning to pull the plug. Reassign them, if they wanted to or not. If she wanted to solve this puzzle, she had to find proof that this was more than just a case of demonic gang violence.

Right now, the symbols on the doors were their best leads on what had happened underground. Maybe the Kota really had found a mythical weapon, and as a result, a fight had broken out. It was a theory, but it wasn't enough. After discovering the demons, the Slayers had only briefly entered the dingy halls to look for more clues. Safety first was the mantra ever since they had lost two girls in a preventable ambush. Whoever the Kota-killer was, they had been merciless and thorough, and a surprise attack from the shadows could have ended badly for the Slayers. The overpowering stench of rotting flesh had done its part in ensuring that they left as quickly as possible. 

Vi added another small circle to her drawing, then suddenly dropped the pencil, jerked her right hand upward, and grabbed a wrist next to her shoulder. She held the arm tight, moving it slowly away from her body and to the side of her chair.

"Hi Spike," she said without turning to look at the vampire behind her.

"What's up, luv?"

"4:2 to me."

"Almost caught you, though."

"Dude, not even close."

Spike sauntered around the table and dropped down in an armchair across from Vi.

"So did you girls kill some ugly suckers tonight?"

Vi looked up from her scribbles. "Nah, but we hit a whole jackpot of ugly the other day. Are the others coming, too?" 

"Gunn and Gwen should be here any minute. Angel's out on some errand with Junior. What did you find?"

"We told you about those tunnels we uncovered? Someone committed demon mass murder down there."

Spike perked up. "Are you saying strangers are stealing our jobs?"

"So it really wasn't you guys? I thought there might have still been the chance."

"Nah." Spike held up his hands to underline his innocence. "It wasn't us. We would've bragged about that one already. We're still bloody behind this month." They glanced over to the scoreboard made of printer paper that Gunn had pinned to one of the walls in the lounge. Slayers United was very clearly in the lead against Hyperion D.(usting) C.(lub). Spike chuckled. "We have to hide the board. Angel hates it. He's gonna eat all that paper in a hissy-fit of self-righteous anger one of these days."

Vi grinned. "Psh! He only objects to it when he's losing. By the way do you guys wanna take over some demon pack-rat incidents from us? Those goblins are only child-sized. They might be more up your alley? Could bring up your score."

Spike grabbed a piece of paper, scrunched it up and threw it at Vi. "Oi. Not long ago, I was still teaching you how to defend yourself against fledgling vamps and now look at this insolence."

Vi's grin widened. Then another thought crossed her mind and her smile vanished again. "But something's off, right? He's off?"

Spike waved his hand, as if that could dispel the notion. "Who? Angel? Angel's being Angel. All tortured and morose. That's his shtick. He's not happy unless he's unhappy. Don't fret about it."

Vi wanted to add something else, but Spike already leaned over the table to get a look at the papers in front of her. "So, do you have any idea who did it?"

"Not really. So far, we only have these engravings." Vi slid her drawings across the table.

"Well, that's one ugly ass tri…" Spike picked up the paper and looked at the sketch more closely. "Oh, bugger! I've seen signs like these before." He looked up at Vi with a frown on his face. "Does a place called 'Deeper Well' sound familiar to you?"

  
  
  



	3. The Great City Of The King

_ Valley of the Kings, Egypt, May 21st, 2007 _

Hassian walked with slow, measured steps even though he could hardly contain his excitement. One of the most essential traits of a leader was to act like one. A leader didn't run. He didn't get agitated or fuss. Hassian's feet left deep imprints in the soft sand as he felt his way through the narrow ravines. Every now and then, while stepping around a boulder or a jagged rock formation, he had to reach out and steady himself on the sandstone. It was almost pitch dark down here between the rugged walls of the gorge. Above him the nighttime sky wound its way through the stone like an upside down river of glistening gems. It couldn't be far now. He was almost there. 

Much like the caves underneath L.A., the temple hadn't been easy to find. The magic that enshrouded this place, that hid it from prying eyes, was still strong after eons. The vaults of Wolfram & Hart, however, were nothing if not meticulously kept. And after searching in the ledgers and digging through index cards of the Italian office he had discovered the 18th century map that marked the spot and with it the tools to break the spells that covered the gravesite. Why Sebassis or anyone else hadn't used them, he would never know.

The pathway turned into an open space and the walls, that had run parallel for nearly a mile, diverged into different directions. On the opposite side stood the temple, carved into the sheer rock. Columns as thick and tall as trees supported a limestone roof that crossed the whole front of the building. In between the pillars stood house-high statues of deities that had been. Effigies of faceless gods. Their bodies and limbs were slender, their posture was gentle and stoic. He stepped closer to examine the work. The stone doors of the temple had been diligently engraved. Detailed hieroglyphics adorned them on all sides. He wasn't an expert on archaic human languages, but their infantile meaning was easy enough to guess. They told stories of a great war. They told stories of destruction and doom and of beasts that had fallen from the skies and beasts that had risen from the ground. They told stories of how the beasts had devoured the land. And high above them towered three triangles intertwined. 

Hassian stepped over the threshold and felt the tingle of magic in his body, sensed the acrid-sweet smell of the glamour that had hidden these halls. Silius' voice boomed through the corridors, and Hassian followed the sound to the sanctuary of the temple.

"I told you what I want, and I will not tell you again," Silius hissed. He was losing composure. He was never going to be a great leader like that.

The girl who knelt at his feet looked unimpressed. Instead of begging for her life, she stared at him defiantly, blood dripping from her nose and lower lip. "And I'm telling you, I won't move until you let her go. Kill me if you want, but then you have nothing." She leaned against her restraints, but her two captors held her tight. 

Hassian assumed she could have easily broken free, but they held onto something more valuable to her than her own life. Silius must have heard his steps, because he looked up and gave him a brief nod. 

He stepped closer to the prisoner. "Silius, my friend, what is all this commotion? I thought we had arranged a deal with our guests. I thought we were all in accordance."

The girl turned her attention towards Hassian. Some humans flinched or screamed when they saw a demon. When they saw him. The scars on the right side of his face. The long black horns, one broken off and jagged. But not this one. She was used to his kind. The girl wrinkled her eyebrows in disdain, then she spat on the ground, just barely missing his foot. 

Hassian stepped over the small puddle of blood and mucus as if he hadn't even noticed it. "There. There. We do as we said. We will let her go. She won't die in anguish. You move the stone for us. Everyone gets what they want."

The girl seemed to consider his words.

"And if you act up, we will go after her, and you will watch her die. And let me promise you, it will take a long, long time," Silas huffed.

"I wouldn't have phrased it like that, but …he's not wrong." Hassian shrugged and then waved at one of his men, who held another, younger girl hostage. Ten or twelve at the most, tears had streaked her cheeks and snot was running out her nose. She wasn't quite as unmoved by their capture as the older one.

The footman released the girl.

"Go!" Hassian told her.

The girl shook her head, unwilling to leave.

"Nasima! Go. Do what he tells you," the older girl yelled.

"I won't leave you," the young one wailed.

"Nasima! I'll find a way. But I need you safe first. Now go!"

Nasima hesitated, looked at her captors, back to the girl kneeling in the sand, for a moment their eyes met. Her face scrunched up, and Hassian thought she was going to start crying again. Then she took her chance and rushed off into the dark and into the maze-like temple hallways he had just come through.

Hassian clasped his hands together and focused his attention back on the captured girl. "Now, where were we? If you would be so kind?" He pointed at a large slab of stone behind them. The stone was scratched and burned, little bits had been chipped out of the surface, yet it still enclosed what he had come to find. There were more inscriptions here - on the stone and above it. 

_ 'This is not a house of worship. This is the house of death.'  _

He smiled. These humans, always so melodramatic.

The girl got up from her knees. The demons restraining her, eased her chains. She moved over to the stone and put her hands onto its surface, slowly tracing the engravings with her fingertips. Their edges had been softened by time, but the figures were still recognizable. A person with a sword. A knife with two blades. People on their knees. She put both hands on the stone and started to push. Nothing happened. She leaned more of her weight against the stone and pushed again. A light breeze picked up and circled in the cave.

"Did you hear that?" she asked no one in particular.

"What did you hear?"

"A voice. It asked me if I did it for love." She pushed the stone again, and it suddenly gave way. Creaking and grinding against more stone, against the sand. A wail filled the air. A draft like an inconsolable sigh escaped the cave that had just opened up.

Hassian walked over to the girl and put his hand on her jaw. His wrinkled skin looked incredibly pale compared to her tan face. Almost translucent. His clean, well-kept nails caressed her cheek. "And you did," he said in a tender voice. His other hand moved up and he snapped her neck in one swift motion. The crack of breaking bone echoed through the halls. The girl's body slid to the ground with a soft thud. He took a wide step over her lifeless form and entered the room behind. "For the love of man, a warrior defiant of the gods," he read aloud. Before he vanished in the cave he turned back to his footmen. "Find the sister. She can't be far. Kill her. But do it quickly. We had a deal after all." Then he strode forward with quiet steps. 

In here, the floor tiles were free of sand, immaculate as if they'd just been cleaned. In the middle of the room stood a sarcophagus carved from white stone. There was no material like it in the entire valley. Hassian put his hands on the lid and pushed. It slid off of the rim easily, as if it had just been placed here. He glanced at the skeleton inside. The bones were chalky with a yellow tinge, but still in good condition for their age. The fingers were wrapped around a golden mace. 

A wave of disappointment washed over Hassian. He grit his teeth to keep his feelings at bay. So close, he had been so close.

Silius walked up behind him. "That's not it, is it?"

"It is not."

"We're going back to Los Angeles then?"

"I don't think we can't avoid it. We'll take the mace nevertheless. It has its own value."

Hassian reached inside the casket with one slender hand and grabbed the handle of the mace to lift the weapon. It only shifted an inch or two, then it got stuck underneath the bones. He pulled again. It was still stuck. He retreated his hand to try a different angle, but before he could do so, Silius pulled a short sword from a scabbard on his belt, flipped it around, and smashed the skeleton's joints with the hilt. Bone fragments flew into the air like bouncing beans, almost hitting them in the eyes.

"Thank you, Silius. That was unnecessarily efficient," Hassian said while he brushed the bone dust from his long black coat.

Silius grunted, grabbed the mace, weighted in his hands, then swung it over his head and hit the air with it. "At least it's real. I always thought this was the stuff of old crones' tales. The stories they tell small children to frighten them. Do you want to give it a try?" Silius handed the mace over and then waved at one of the footmen.

As soon as Hassian wrapped his fingers around the handle, he heard a whisper in his head. It was an old dialect. A language almost forgotten, but he understood the gist. ' _ What do you want?'  _ the weapon asked him.

A thin smile snaked up Hassian's lips. The footman was still waiting for his orders. Hassian swung his arm, and with it the mace, and hit the servant right in the chest. The demon staggered and was dead before he hit the ground.

"You want to try it, too?"

"Nah, we don't have that many spares." Silius turned to leave. "You know Hassian, this was the easy one. The other place will be harder to crack. Getting in there has already taken much longer than we thought. What if your heroes don't bite?" 

"Patience, my friend. Patience. They'll come. It's in their nature."

Silius groaned, clearly disapproving. "It's been weeks since we dropped those dead moles in the cave, and no one of worth has shown up. Hero of the gods? What does that even mean? There are no gods."

Hassian touched the sarcophagus and ran his fingertips along the engravings. "No, not anymore. But that doesn't mean this world is devoid of their champions. It'll just take a bit more time to get them to play along than it did with that little Slayer."


	4. No Stranger To Prophecy

_25 miles outside of Edinburgh, Scotland, May 22nd, 2007_

The cold air prickled on Buffy's face and left her cheeks with a rosy hue. Temperatures never rose high in Scotland, and even now, on a morning in mid-May, the windows were fogged, and her breath formed small puffy clouds. Spring, however, had arrived regardless of what the thermometers said, and all over the estate flowers had begun to bloom. Daisies and bluebells colored the meadows purple and white and bobbed their heads to the beat of a gentle breeze. 

Buffy watched the flowers dance for a while before she let her gaze wander up towards the sky. Not a cloud was in sight. Now and then, tiny white birds crossed the perfect blue canvas in the distance. She had taken the morning off from training, meetings, and conference calls to spend some time by herself. To breathe. To do nothing. The fate of the world didn't rest on her shoulders alone anymore. It was one of the great freedoms of not being the only Slayer.

She had put quite a distance between herself and the main grounds of Dunford castle when she came across an old wooden bench on a hilltop. It overlooked rolling green fields, lush forests, and a small lake a few miles off in the north. She could even see the castle grounds from here. It was unbelievable to think that these buildings were home to dozens of Slayers and Watchers and witches, all of whom were working together in the new Slayer Organization and towards a common goal. She felt proud of what they had achieved in just four years.

Everything had changed so much. 

The sound of hooves made Buffy shift her gaze from the picture-perfect view of the highlands.

A white horse came trotting down the path she'd just walked on. It stopped right next to the bench. On the horse's back sat a boy, ten at the most. His dark hair had a slightly messy cut and looked disheveled. Sweat and sand caked the strands. He must've spent the morning running around in the forest, building hideouts in the undergrowth, fighting imaginary monsters, and bands of robbers. A self-made bow hung loosely around his scrawny body. 

The boy studied her intently, but didn't say a word. Buffy grabbed the edge of the bench and shifted forward. A familiar sensation prickled at the back of her neck, a quiet voice whispered 'danger' in her ear. 

The horse snorted and nickered, tapping a forehoof on the ground.

"Can I help you?" Buffy finally asked.

The boy, too, now looked around, eyes scanning the countryside, as if he was searching for someone in particular. Wary as if he had been followed.

Then he jumped off the horse and quickly crossed the distance between them. Before Buffy could move, he flung his skinny arms around her neck. His embrace was much more forceful than she would've expected from a child. He pressed his temple into her hair and moved his mouth close to her ear. He smelled of spring air and the breeze by the sea. 

"Endure my heart," he whispered, "you had worse than this to bear." 

Buffy tried to push the boy off, but the harder she tried, the tighter he held her. She mustered more force and finally shoved him away. He fell backward and tried to regain his footing, his expression hurt and confused. 

Suddenly an eerie rumble thundered through the air. A growl and grind so deep and horrible it made Buffy jump. The earth shook. Behind the horse, a rift opened up in the ground and quickly widened. As the walls on both sides moved further apart from each other, the edges started to collapse. More and more soil broke off and fell into the chasm. The earth shook again, and jagged rock formations thrust up from below. Flames crawled up the newly formed gorge. 

The horse neighed frantically and stepped back and forth in the same spot, uncertain whether to remain or take flight. 

The boy whirled around and grabbed the reins to steady the beast, but in that moment, the edge behind the horse's hind-legs broke, and the animal slid backward down the brim. It screamed in terror as it lost its hold. The boy, not expecting the sudden pull, stumbled and fell forward. He toppled over the edge. His head rose one last time as he tried to hold on with dirty and bloodied fingers, but it was no use. 

Buffy hurled herself after him as he dropped out of sight, but didn't catch him in time. Lying flat on her stomach, she pulled herself forward and closer to the rim. 

Then a hand reached up from the rift. Still dirty and bloodied, it was much larger than the one before. A second hand came forward, and then a man pulled himself halfway up and onto the ledge. Sweat and dirt-caked his hair and made it stick to his forehead. Blood trickled from a gash over his eyebrow and his right ear. His cheeks were red and bruised. His eyes were bright white with horror. 

Buffy had never seen Angel look so scared.

She quickly reached forward and pinned his sleeve to the ground, then turned her hand to take hold of his forearm. He was unbelievably heavy, as if something was pulling at him from below. Buffy's arm burned from the strain. A sensation of bones and muscles that were ripping out of the shoulder joint. She closed her eyes as bile rose in her throat. The pain spread through her body like a hot knife, cutting through her arm, her shoulders, and her back. But then, even though she was adamant about holding on, her fingers slowly opened and peeled off Angel's arm, one by one. 

He slipped from her grasp, held onto the brittle edge for another heartbeat, then he was gone.

Buffy screamed.

She sat up straight in her bed, panting, her t-shirt soaked in sweat. Her hands moved frantically over her cushions and her blanket as if to make sure they were real. She tried to push away the dizziness and paralyzing fear that had clouded her head. She let her face sink into her palms, rubbed her eyes and her cheeks, and combed her fingers through her hair. It was only a dream. And yet it had frightened her as nothing else had in a very long time. She could smell the sulfur and the fire even now. She could hear the rumble and grind, the sound of the world breaking apart and groaning in pain. She could see the despair in Angel's eyes.

Buffy took several controlled breaths; she listened for a sound outside, some sort of commotion that could've been the cause for this nightmare. 

But the outside world was dormant and quiet . 

Buffy got up and stepped over to the window. She slid the curtains to the side. A murder of crows broke off into flight from the castle grounds. No one was outside at this hour. The first wispy rays of sunshine were starting to pull the night sky apart, but it wasn't yet morning. Definitely too early to get up. Then again, she had a long day ahead of her, full of training and meetings and conference calls. She put on sweatpants and a hoodie and went for a run. 

* * *

Buffy crossed the entrance hall of the castle in fast strides. The clacking of her heels echoed from the stone tiles and through the quiet of the foyer.

At 3 p.m., there were only a few people around.

Most Slayers were in training sessions. Watchers and witches were caught up in their own lessons, researching or rebuilding the information network the Council had once kept. When Buffy was younger, she had always been contemptuous of how little the Watchers' Council supported their Slayers. While that perception hadn't changed, it had come as a surprise to her, to discover how much activity had gone on behind closed curtains. When the Slayer Organization had taken over the properties which had once belonged to the Council, they had come across vaults of information on demonlore, on magic rites and persons of particular interest. Of course, they had binders of information on her, but she had also found files on her mother, her father, even her aunt Arlene. She had burned them all. It had taken Buffy and her allies months to get a grasp on the backroom deals in place, on the different causes the Watchers had lobbied. The Council had secured priceless artifacts and destroyed the ones they had deemed too dangerous to preserve. In their own scheming ways, they had done their part in keeping the world, not necessarily safe, but at least safe from destruction. It was beyond anything Giles had led her to believe was going on. Maybe it was beyond what even he had been aware of. When they recruited former Watchers for the Slayer Organization later, they made sure none of them had been high ups in the old days. 

On the other side of the entrance hall, three of the younger Slayers hovered around a large glass door that led out onto a patio. One of them had crouched down, observing an object on the ground. 

"Do you need help?" Buffy called over to them, slightly irritated at the fact that they were not in class.

"No. We got it. It's just a kitty," one of the girls, a Slayer called Sanne, answered. "Can we keep it?"

Before Buffy could reply with a not so gentle _'hell no,'_ she heard her name being called.

Willow stood in the middle of the foyer, in her left hand an overnight bag and a purse, in her right hand car keys and a tumbler. "Are you coming?"

"On my way!" 

"Is everything alright?" Willow asked as they made their way to the main exit leaving the younger Slayers behind.

"Yeah, just some cat."

"No, with you? You look concerned?"

"Me? I'm totally fine." Buffy combed her finger through her hair, wondering if she really looked that frazzled. Judging from the look on Willow's face, her efforts didn't make it any better. "Will…you're the first to know if nothing is something."

"I hope so. I'm a great one-stop-shop for solving somethings!" Willow said with a certain sense of pride. Then her expression became more worried. "It's not Dawnie, is it? She just called me about some travel advice. She seemed so happy about college and her upcoming Eurotrip." She stopped walking and adjusted her grip on her bag.

"No, Dawnie's great. It's really no --"

"Are you worried about the report? So far, that seems pretty evil artifact of the week to me. I'm sure by tonight we have all the answers we need."

Buffy put her hand on Willow's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. "Will, really. I'm fine. I just didn't sleep that well. It's nothing. Probably just Mercury in Gatorade." She tried to channel her most reassuring and earnest smile.

It wasn't a complete lie. It wasn't the report. Not really. Even though that contained the first remarkable news from L.A. in months. They'd received a scheduled status from Vi and Martin earlier in the week. Fights in L.A. were continuing to die down. Check. Demon activity in the city was more or less under control. Check. As far as general operations were concerned, or to be more precise as far as mission Deep Impact was concerned, all was good. Triple check. The only matters that gave Vi a small headache were the rumors about a strange weapon that were spreading in the L.A. underworld and a cave full of dead mole-demons that the Slayers had come across. Vi had sent them scribbles of engravings she had found and a request for a follow-up either through research by the Watchers or on location at the Deeper Well. Spike of all people claimed to have seen similar inscriptions there.

Spike. 

It had been almost two years since he had come to see Buffy in Scotland, and this was the first time he had appeared in any of Vi's reports in a while. He was still in L.A. then, still working with the Slayers. Sometimes it itched her to ask Vi. How's Spike? How often do you guys hang with Team Hyperion? Are you friends? How's A...but she never did. Those questions only lead to other questions, and all those questions better stayed buried and unasked.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" Willow had placed her bag in the trunk of the green Mini Cooper and was tapping on the hatchback waiting for Buffy to put hers down as well.

"Yes. No. Of course I am." Buffy put her bag down next to Willow's.

"Can you drive?" Willow dangled the keys in front of Buffy's face. "If you do, I can read up some more on the Deeper Well on the way. I'm so excited we finally have an excuse to go." She snickered. "The books say it's a mother of mystical places. Giles was all grouchy-pants because he has to be in Devon and can't come."

* * *

_Cotswolds, England, May 18th, 2007_

They couldn't have missed the Keeper, even if they'd tried. She sat right in the middle of the cavernous room. A tall, green-skinned demon with long pointed ears. Her red eyes followed their moves like a cat's gaze followed a mouse. Her upper lip twitched into a tense fleeting smile. Not hostile, but not welcoming either. Canine teeth glistened underneath. She put her handiwork to the side, pressed her sharp-clawed hands down on the armrests, and then slowly lifted her body out of her rocking chair. Her pinned-up hair and Victorian velvet dress made her look more like a grandmother from a Luisa May Alcott novel than the custodian of an ancient demonic burial ground.

"Is she knitting a sweater?" Buffy whispered.

"Maybe, but those might not be knitting needles," Willow said," but poisonous darts that kill with one prick. She might look like a grandma, but maybe she's a wolf. A wolf-demon in grandma's clothing."

Buffy seemed to consider the possibility, then she took a step forward. "Good evening?"

"Good evening," the demon replied. "It's a late hour to receive guests. But I guess it cannot be helped if you made it through the guards. Who are you, and what brings you here?"

"This is Willow Rosenberg, and I'm Buffy Summers." They let the introduction settle, waiting for a reply or an introduction in return. The demon offered neither.

"We're looking for information on a symbol and hoped you could help us. A friend of ours has seen the sign here in the Deeper Well."

That caught the demon's interest at last. "You know someone who's been to the Deeper Well? Surely not since I've been instated. We've had no visitors in years."

Willow pulled a sheet of paper from her bag and offered it to the Keeper. The demon didn't react. When Willow didn't retract her hand, the demon sighed dramatically and took the sheet from her. She held it close to her eyes, then moved it further away, then moved it close again before she finally adjusted her reading glasses to properly inspect the content.

"That's why you came to the Deeper Well? It's a simple Valknut. Anyone could have told you that." 

"That's what we thought." The Watchers had indeed identified the first sign as a Valknut, a symbol that appeared in different religions and ancient texts throughout history, often representing unity. Research on the other hieroglyphics, however, hadn't yielded any results so far. Their language was lost to men, if the language was human at all. Willow passed the demon a second sheet. "How about these?" 

The light in the cave was dim, but the demon's skin color paled by several hues. "Where did you find this?"

"In a cave underneath Los Angeles."

The demon frowned.

"Does it mean anything?"

"No. It's gibberish. A toddler's writing. However, these do resemble other signs." The Keeper looked at them as if she was appraising a piece at an auction house. A cold touch crept over Willow's skin.

"Very well then," the Keeper said. "Follow me. I guess it cannot be helped." She bent down to pick up a rusty oil lantern and groaned as she lifted herself back up. Then she trotted past Buffy and Willow without sparing either of them so much as another glance. 

The women followed the demon through an intricate maze of tunnels and caves until they reached a narrow wooden bridge. The planks creaked under the Keeper's weight as she walked into the middle of the ancient construction. 

Buffy and Willow carefully peeked over the railing. They stood at the top of an endless chute. Try as she might, Willow could not make out the ground below. What she did see, however, were rows upon rows of coffins. Gold and black, ascetic and adorned with intricate detail, they lined the walls of the chute from the bridge all the way down and as far as the eye could see. Willow got lightheaded. She tried to focus on the coffins to steady herself, tried to reach for the power that held them in place. She could feel the vestigial hum of the magic that had created this burial ground a long time ago. She could feel the pull of forces that still held it together today. They called her like a long lost friend. They reached out to her, grasping for her with airy fingers. Embracing her, welcoming her home. The thought of leaping over the railing briefly crossed her mind.

"How far does this go down?" Willow asked in awe.

"All the way.”

"All the way?"

"All the way to the other side," the demon said as if this was the obvious answer. Then she pointed to a space above their heads and towards an inscription above the entrance that they'd just passed through. "Look here. One of the first written languages of men. Although some doubt your kind could've conceived of such writing back then."

They saw them now. Engravings similar to those Vi had sent them. The signs had been grooved into the stone wall, crude markings that had withered over time.

"What does it say?" Buffy asked.

"It was commanded. It was done. The war was fought. The war was won. Although that is more of an interpretation than verbatim translation." The demon held up the paper Willow had given her with two fingers, as if it was a dirty thing. "I believe the scribble on this sheet is supposed to be the sigil of Atakan." She pointed to three signs that remained in the second row of engravings. The other symbols in the row had been scratched out, the spaces where they once stood were covered in erratic marks and scrapes. "The blade that tears the world apart." 

"So, it's safe to say that Atakan isn't a thing we want to find?" Willow asked.

The Keeper suddenly got very solemn. "Well, that depends entirely on what side you're on."

* * *

Buffy and Willow exited the Deeper Well through the same old oak tree. Fog gently wafted over the forest floor. Wind rustled in the leaves. The demon guards still lay where they'd left them. No one had bothered to move the corpses yet. 

"So that was the nightmare version of wonderland. Too bad we didn't learn that much by going down the rabbit hole," Buffy said.

"Well, first we thought it might be bad. Now it sounds like it definitely is. What we don't know is exactly how," Willow answered.

The Keeper couldn't tell them much more about Atakan than the mere name. Knowledge of the primordial war and what had happened to the Old Ones exactly had dwindled with every Keeper who passed. The last Keeper's sudden death, which had prevented him from training his successor, had fast-tracked the process additionally. 

Regardless Willow had seen more in the Deeper Well than she'd expected. There was something about it that didn't feel right. "This place...Buffy, it's dangerous. The way it spoke to me." Willow trailed off, trying to find the appropiate words.

"Are you okay?" 

Willow nodded quickly. "I am. I just haven't felt magic like this in a long time. The demons that are buried here, I don't know if we ever faced anything like them. The darkness they radiate. I could still feel it. They're worse than the Hellmouth Spawn. They're worse than Snake-Major Wilkens. And it's the same for the magic that holds this place together. It's not any magic. It's world-altering." She turned, searching for something in the twilight, as if the magic of the Deeper Well had become corporal and would walk out of the woods any minute now. 

"The place gave me the Slayer tingles, too."

Willow hugged herself. "Whoever trapped the Old Ones, whoever beat them must have been powerful."

"You don't think they're the good guys?"

"I'm saying, if I was trying to take down uber-demons, I would send someone similar. Fight fire with fire."

"Like a Slayer?" 

"Only we know it wasn't. This is from a time before Slayers. And whatever weapon they had --"

"...it could be wielded both ways." Buffy groaned. "So we have to go to L.A. Make sure the weapon doesn't fall into the wrong hands." 

Willow shrugged. "I could go with Satsu or Rowena. We can assess the situation in L.A. and figure out what's up with those underground caves. See if the squads need additional help." Willow and the other two Slayers had taken the same trip on a similar mission two years ago. Buffy, however, had never been back, and Willow knew her best friend wasn't exactly eager to go.

Buffy chewed on her lower lip, something was bothering her. "Maybe that's a good idea. Vi and Rona are great fighters, but they don't have much experience with mythical A-bombs." 

The two women started to walk out of the forest and back to where they had parked the car, but Buffy was falling behind. She checked the path behind them repeatedly, kicked at twigs and stones in her path. Then Buffy halted. "I had a dream," she blurted out.

"And, let me guess it wasn't the good kind?"

Buffy shook her head. "Angel was in it…"

"I thought it wasn't the good kind?"

"I haven't… I'm not…it was bad. It was the death sentence kind of dream."

"Ah, crap. Sorry."

"Nobody knows about this," Buffy said, the implication clear. Then she added almost inaudibly, "But, I think it would be good if someone went to L.A. to make sure they can handle the situation."

"Of course. I'll bring it up before the next meeting. I'm sure Satsu's game. She always wanted to go to the original Disneyland, and ever since the Fall of L.A., ticket prices have totally plummeted."

  
  
  



	5. Day By Day

_Dunford Castle, Scotland, May 24th 2007_

Hades was busy this morning. Almost all the chairs around its conference table were taken, and the windows had been pulled wide open to release the ever stuffy castle air. The room had been a solar once, a private space for the Lord and Lady to retreat to. Intricate murals adorned the ceiling even centuries later, depicting magical forests inhabited by dragons, lions and unicorns. Beyond the wall decorations, though, little of the room's original set-up remained. When the Slayer Organization had taken over the property, the solar had been repurposed into a conference room, and a whiteboard, a projector, and a phone line had been added to its furnishing. As the primary locale for telephone conferences and all extended meetings, it now provided its very own kind of purgatory. 

Buffy and Willow were seated at the head of the large oak table. On their left sat Giles and next to him Carol and Hugh. The latter had pulled a first edition copy of the _Grimoire du Pape Honorius le Grand_ from a stack of dusty tomes in front of him, and Willow noted with amusement that the other Watchers were making little cooing sounds as he showed them the volume. Carol, Giles, and Hugh had been classmates back in the day, and while Giles didn't exactly call the other two friends, they had been among the few trustworthy Watchers to approach when they had needed to hire staff for the Slayer Organization.

A strange swirling sound pulled Willow's attention from the Watchers and towards the man on her right. Tayo had pulled the sleeves of his lime green hoodie over his wrists and was twirling a pencil in the air that he held aloft by magic alone. He had grown up in his grandma's magic shop in South London and was a potions and enchantments wunderkind, but since he started spell casting with Willow he'd developed a thing for practical magic, too.

Rowena and Kennedy, the other Slayers in the room and Heads of Unit Planning and Base Coordination, respectively, were seated next to the warlock. As Rowena dialed them into the conference call, the voices of Xander, Robin, Satsu, Jake, and Leah crackled through the loudspeaker and greeted the others from their different postings across the globe. 

Five Slayers, five Watchers, a warlock, a witch, and the Head of Special Ops were the thirteen people in the Slayer Organization who called the shots.

Buffy cleared her throat. "Alright, everyone! Let's wield the full power that has been bestowed upon us and keep this meeting on time. Rowena, you got the agenda?"

Rowena shuffled the papers in front of her until she had everyone's attention. "Here it is. And we do have a lot to get through today, so let's try to make each item quick." She scribbled something onto the sheet of paper on top of her stack, then started to read out its contents. "L.A.'s the first item on the list. You've all gotten Vi's memo and Willow's addendum, and hopefully, you also read them. Then we have to deal with another skin snatcher infestation in Sapporo and a wannabe witch doctor, who is raising an army of headless zombie chicken in Port-au-Prince."

Kennedy pressed her hands onto the tabletop and slightly lifted herself out of her seat. Then she leaned forward across the table. If the people in the conference room hadn't looked at her before, they did now. 

"Hugh and I talked about this on the way back from London already, and we at least are on the same page." She exchanged a quick glance with the man who had become her second Watcher. "We think we should let Violet and Rona handle this. They have made great progress as leaders. And right now, there is no reason to be overly concerned." 

Buffy inhaled audibly, but didn't reply. Instead she kept her gaze fixed on the conference phone. Willow knew Buffy dreaded these discussions with the rest of leadership, part of her wishing she could still just call the shots. But the days of Scooby research in the library were long over, and the world they operated in was much bigger now. 

At least their friendship had stayed the same. 

"Maybe I wasn't clear before, but this situation is serious," Willow said with emphasis. "We need to take a closer look at what's happening in L.A. There's a connection between the symbols that Vi found, the Deeper Well, and the graves of the Old Ones. Even if it seems like it's not a big deal right now, this could definitely turn into something much more serious."

"Right. But as you said, it is not a big deal right now," Kennedy repeated. "All we have are sketchy symbols and boozy rumors from demon bars. The case for an intervention is just not that strong. If we snatch the reins from our squad leaders whenever a situation gets tense, they'll never learn to make the right calls when the chips are down. I say we wait." She pressed her hands onto the tabletop with more force as if pushing the oak board down would also smother the conversation.

Willow tried hard to keep a neutral face. She and Kennedy had been civil with each other since their break-up, but parting ways also meant that Ken didn't hold back when it came to public disagreements anymore. It was true that Vi and Rona had assessed the situation as 'in control,' but Willow wasn't sure the Slayers had enough information to make that call. And then there was also the matter of Buffy's dream. They had learned the hard way that it was better to pay attention to these kind of premonitions.

"Maybe you could just explain your reasoning in more detail?" Hugh suggested.

Willow looked Buffy, waiting for her to say something. It wasn't Willow's place to share all of their reasoning.

Just before the silence stretched too long, Buffy spoke up, "Something isn't right in L.A. I just know it."

Hugh squinted his eyes and shifted his attention away from Willow. His lips were pressed together in two thin lines. "Is there something specific that leads you to believe that?"

Buffy didn't budge. "Just trust me on this one. Call it experience. Call it slayer-sense. It's the same as three years ago. And I was right then." She looked the Watcher straight in the eye. The man blinked first.

"I don't deny that Buffy, but L.A. has cost us. It has cost us people that we can't spare. It has cost us money that we don't have. The majority of our resources have been bound by the city for years. We're worth nothing to the world, if we become completely incapacitated as an organization."

"And we also don't need to get involved in other people's wars. Again," Kennedy added.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Buffy asked, her voice becoming more terse.

"If Willow and Buffy are certain about the threat, I do agree that it makes sense to have someone with more experience assess the situation on the ground," Giles said, obviously trying to find a consensus before the discussion got more heated.

Tayo shifted in his seat without dropping his pencil. It still twirled above his palm, but now with a more measured speed. "Why don't we get a second opinion from someone who's already there? We could ask that guy? Angel? I know we're not officially partnering with him, but Vi and Rona do work with his crew regularly. Also, he's old. He must have seen something like this before." 

All heads around the table turned abruptly towards the warlock, and a quiet murmur began to simmer in the room.

"You want to bring Angel into this?" Kennedys asked. "Not to be too blunt, but all of this is his mess. If he hadn't killed the Thorns, L.A. would still be what it was. Sunshine, fancy cars, and palm trees. Instead, it's hell on earth. I know Angel's been working with the squads on the ground, but we do have to ask ourselves if he's someone we want to rely on? Is he really on our side?" 

"What sides? There are only two sides. Demons, Senior Partners, the First Evil. Those are the other guys. Everyone who fights them? They're on ours," Jake retorted through the speakerphone, annoyance clearly noticeable in his voice. 

Buffy's face was still rigid, but Willow was glad that Jake had spoken up. Pro-Angel arguments were much more compelling when they came from a Watcher, and Buffy would have rather swallowed her own tongue before she would have entered that particular discussion again.

Kennedy raised her hands appeasingly. "I'm just saying he might not be our guy. Even Buffy isn't talking to him anymore."

That one hit. For a brief second Buffy looked as if she'd been slapped. Angel, L.A., and the whole disaster around Wolfram & Hart were still sensitive topics within the Organization and for Buffy especially. There were those who blamed him. Those who thought he had taken a justified stand. And Buffy, who had unfairly gotten caught in the middle of the fight. These days she evaded the topic like a vampire evaded crosses and holy water.

Tayo caught his levitating pencil in his hand and pressed its graphite top into the tip of his thumb. "I'm just sayin', we ask his opinion. It can't hurt."

Xander's voice rose through the speakerphone. "Kennedy does have a point, though. Angel's always been unpredictable." 

Someone on another line groaned.

Someone else started to object.

Then a loud thud shut all sounds and voices up. Giles had grabbed several old tomes from the stack in front of the Watchers and had dropped them on the table. A cloud of moldy smelling dust wavered above their heads. "Let's all stay professional, shall we?" Then he turned to Buffy. "What do you think? Deep Impact is your mission and out of all of us you know..." He hesitated for a moment. "...L.A. and Angel best."

Buffy looked at the people around her, her expression blank again. "I think his assessment will be valid," she said with forced neutrality.

"But you've described him as scheming and manipulative in the past. And none of us know when he might snap. What will set him off next time. It could be anything really," Kennedy said, her tone too cocky to cover the underlying implications.

Giles shot Kennedy another stern look.

Buffy shifted in her seat, taking on a straighter, a more rigid position. "No. What I said was that we shouldn't underestimate the lengths he'll go to in taking out his enemies."

"Let's just look at our options again," Rowena said in an effort to wrap up the conversation. "We have an on-ground assessment scheduled for July. Why don't we just bring it forward? Check out the hieroglyphics and the cave at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone."

"That sounds reasonable," Carol said, "So who can go? Robin, what about you?"

"To be honest, we are understaffed as it is. We can barely cover the East Coast."

"Alright. Who else? Any volunteers? Kennedy and I are still in the middle of setting up the London squad," Hugh suddenly sounded eager to end the topic as well.

"You know what, I'll just go. Anyone else?" Rowena asked.

"Why don't you go, Buffy?" Kennedy said, slowly reclining in her chair. "Rupert is right. Deep Impact has always been your baby. It was your big plan. And yet you're the only one who was never on the ground. Never saw the battlefield with your own eyes."

"It didn't make sense at the time."

"You're right. It didn't. But I think it would only make sense that you go now. Not just because you know the city. Not just because it's your hunch. I think it's important for your role in leadership. To show yourself." Kennedy fixated on Buffy.

Xander's groan echoed through the silence. "And so Buffy has to fix Angel's problems again."

"Well, so far, Angel isn't even involved in this. He might not even anticipate what's happening," Willow was growing tired of the bashing. Whether they talked about it or not, she knew it hurt Buffy.

"That's the problem, though. He never can. And yet these things _keep_ happening to him and because of him, and other people pay the price. We pay the price."

"When have you ever --" Willow started, but then Buffy suddenly got up.

"Guys! Guys! I'll go. Kennedy's right. I started it. I'll finish it. And whoever else is causing trouble, well, I'll just serve them a hot plate of slayage on the side. I'll head out as soon as I can."

"You still want me to come?" Rowena asked. "If everything looks good, we might be able to pull the last squads from the city at the end of the summer."

Buffy nodded.

"Oh, I think we will," Hugh added as a last thought. "There hasn't been a resurgence in demon activity in a year. It's time we bring our squads home. All intel says there's no one left in L.A. who could pose a threat. The demons that remain are the ones the Senior Partners deemed too worthless to support. Grunts and cannon fodder."

* * *

Buffy left the conference room as soon as the meeting ended. She crossed the entrance hall of the castle and exited the glass doors to the patio. Willow followed without hurry. She knew where Buffy was headed. They had a secret spot.

Willow walked around the deckchairs and outdoor tables, circumvented a BBQ, and then moved onto the small gravel path that led into the gardens that sprawled in intricate rings around the main grounds. There were the terraces, followed by well-kept lawns and hedges, kitchen gardens and flower patches. The tamed plantings then led into a more natural and unruly vegetation, which finally melted into the surrounding landscape. Buffy walked straight towards that border of the property and towards a knee-high stone wall. Not only a physical boundary, it was also the invisible demarcation where all their magical defenses ended. In the middle of the wall and overgrown by climbing plants stood a small masoned outpost. A one-room building made from sandstone with a tall pointed roof. It might have been a shelter for guards at one point, now it was a garden shed. 

Willow caught up with Buffy, and turned around once more, looking over the pathways and various plants, making sure that no one else was around. Although most people never ventured this far out, there was no need to have teenage Slayers listening in on their private conversations. Even the walls had ears in this place.

"So that was --"

"Intense?" Buffy stretched herself in an effort to release the tension in her body.

"Incredibly obnoxious, but I like that you want to stay civil."

"Will, you don't have to…" 

"Oh, I have to. Because I'm done with this and over it. And ready to admit that not every relationship needs to end with people being friends."

Buffy laughed and sat down on the low craggy wall that must have been here as long as the castle itself. "I'm just glad the dating gods gave me a break for once."

Willow couldn't argue with that. Considering all the trouble Buffy had gone through in her life, her last relationship had blown over with surprising ease. There were no hard feelings between Buffy and Jake. They had had a calm relationship and a calm realization that they were better off as friends. After their break-up, Buffy had almost been more concerned about the lack of drama than about the fact that she and Jake had parted ways at all. As it was, the discourse into dating woes didn't last long. 

"You know what the worst part is?" Buffy groaned as she switched the topic. "She's not even wrong." They were back to Kennedy again.

"Maybe so, but at what cost? Her striving makes her so confrontational. She won't settle until she's at the top."

"You think that's what she's after?" Buffy started picking at the brittle stones and the seams in between. Moss had begun to grow in the grooves, and she tried to pry it off the stony surface in one piece.

"I told you before. She and Hugh are fueling each other."

It had been the straw that broke the camel's back. Kennedy had always been highly opinionated and driven, but when Hugh had unofficially taken her on as a Watcher, her ambition had found new heights. Suddenly their opinions were the only ones that counted as valid. Their visions were the only righteous path for the Slayer Organization. Having never been called, Ken and Hugh both felt they had also never reached their full potential. And they tried to make up for it now. They yearned for more. They felt a hunger that was never sated. Willow had wanted to be supportive of her girlfriend until she realized that she would always be second to Kennedy's quest. And that at some point she would have to choose between her and Xander, Giles and Buffy.

"Well, I'll keep pretending that it's all fun and games for now and that we'll sit around the campfire singing Kumbaya in the end," Buffy said.

"As long as you're not letting their power play get to you."

Something rustled in the bushes behind them. Buffy shifted. A tabby cat jumped out from the undergrowth and landed on the wall a few feet away. It stretched and then sat down, all the while studying them with its big curious eyes. The cat had appeared on the property a week ago and had quickly been adopted by the Slayers.

Willow picked up a blade of grass and jiggled it to get the cat's attention. "Hey, kitty! Are you here for more snacks? Do you have a name yet?" she called. 

The cat sauntered towards her and stroked its head along the back of her hand. Willow scratched it behind its ears. "You know, you don't have to go to L.A. No one can make you," she said with a slightly distracted tone.

"I think I do. It's like the sword of Hercules…"

The cat shook itself.

"Damocles?" Willow asked.

"Some dead Greek guy for sure. But either way. Kennedy's right. I need to go to L.A., wrap things up. Drop the curtain. Play the end titles."

Willow folded her hands in her lap. This is where their conversation usually stopped going deeper. These were the parts where she usually didn't venture anymore. "You still haven't called?" She asked tentatively, even though she knew the answer.

"Nooo. That would have been mature."

"Maybe you could call now? Talk shop?"

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Right. Because Angel just loves long unexpected telephone calls with me. And our history of zero calls in the last five years is ample proof of that. You haven't talked to them either?"

Willow shook her head vehemently. "No...Ever since Cordy and Fred...I haven't talked to anyone in a while. The last time I spoke to Angel was two years ago when we were in L.A."

"I remember. And he wasn't in talk-mode then either."

Willow bit her lip, trying to find the right words. "He had a lot on his plate. You know that. And he's not exactly into oversharing." She gave Buffy a fleeting smile. "Or into sharing. Period."

Buffy nodded, her face solemn. 

A pang of guilt struck Willow. The corrosive sting of keeping something that shouldn't be kept under locks. It was true that she hadn't spoken to Angel in years, but she knew how he had felt then. He had told her. But she had promised not to say a word about it. And she had promised not to say a word about what they had done.

"Whatcha thinking?" Buffy asked.

"Nothing. I just thought I could also come along and turn all men that cross our path into tiny slimy creepers."

Buffy laughed. "That would be great, but I think I can handle the boys. Maybe they don't even need to be handled. Wait! That came out wrong. You know what I mean. There might be manhandling, but that's it." Buffy exhaled in frustration.

"I think you're doing the right thing."

"Damned if I go, damned if I don't."

Willow sighed and let her gaze wander across the gardens. Purple foxglove and orange poppies swayed in the breeze. There was not a cloud in the sky. The cat lay on the wall, curled up like a soft cinnamon bun. She stroked the animal's head. The cat blinked briefly, then went back to sleep, purring happily in the warm midday sun.

  
  



	6. The Low Lying City

_Los Angeles, May 26th, 2007_

The lights of the mansion glimmered in the night, a lonely lantern that illuminated the Hollywood Hills. Hassian could see the whole city from its balcony. It glistered and scrambled, not as bright and busy as it had been, but more life was coming back to Los Angeles each day. 

A breeze rippled through the turquoise water in the pool. The smell of burning wood crept into his nose. Some punk-ass kids were playing with fire in Ben Affleck’s backyard again. Nobody stopped them. Affleck wasn’t at home. Nor was anybody else. Most mansions in the neighborhood had been looted a long time ago. When the city fell, America’s A- and B-list celebrities had retreated to San Francisco and New York. Saved by private jet and helicopter, they had left the plebs behind to their less glamorous fate of being stuck on the I-5. The edgy celebs had moved to Seattle and San Antonio, where they told people at parties and 'Pray for LA'-fundraisers, how great their new hometowns were, but how it was just not the same. The energy. The creativity. The possibilities. Barista to Oscar Winner in a week. Hassian understood. He understood that feeling all too well. LA had been great fun. There were few cities like it in this dreary dimension. Everything had been possible here. You didn’t even have to try that hard. Homo homini lupus est.

Hassian walked back inside, leaned down on the ridge of the large glass dining table, and stared at a map of Southern California that lay sprawled out in front of him. He picked up several colored tokens that he had previously placed on the map, moved some of the tokens closer to LA, moved others to the side. He picked up a second set, tried a different approach. It was no use. He didn’t have enough troops left. It was quite the tragedy. 

Ever since the Senior Partners had dried up their supply lines, they had had to resort to meaningless skirmishes with the US Army and random ambushes on the Slayers and Angel’s band of barely housebroken mongrels. 

Angel. His attack on the Circle had come as a surprise. A snicker escaped Hassian when he thought about it. To some, at least. Everyone who hadn’t seen that stab in the back coming from a mile away was now dead. Sebassis had been so sure they’d brought the vampire over to their side. That they’d cornered him into submission. Hassian had warned him. Ten years ago, he’d warned him.

_The Others have a new pet. I promise you it will bite. They choose their dogs carefully. They train them, and they test them, and they weed out the runts. And when they let it loose in your yard, you will know. It will nick at your heels for years. You will think nothing of it, until it goes for your jugular._

And go for the jugular it did.

But Sebassis being Sebassis, he had simply disregarded all warnings.

The counter-attack on LA was a knee-jerk reaction of the Senior Partners. Neither well planned nor well strategized. It was a simple shock and awe maneuver to retaliate. The demon army had mainly consisted of Sebassis’ troops, bloodthirsty, and ready for revenge. Hassian had burned through them until not a single foot soldier was left. No one cared about the numbers, when a whole dimension was at stake. 

He, too, had been callous, though. He saw that now. He hadn’t anticipated the backup. Nobody in this odious sinkhole of a dimension had anticipated that. Not the pencil pushers in Rome. Not the morons in the Wolfram & Hart Moscow office.

And so the fighting had dragged on and on, and the Senior Partners had grown weary over time. They didn’t like to draw attention to themselves. Now and then, they tested the waters to discern how much resistance they would face. How easy it would be to topple a world. They tested how far they could go until the Others got too involved. If it cost too many resources, they retreated. Everyone enjoyed a good stalemate, an interdimensional trench war that never ended with a winner. A war that only produced losers. The last of which was him - stuck here in this boring slough, with no armies and no real power. The Senior Partners had made Hassian their new middleman. It was kin punishment of the worst kind. He wasn’t for administrative work. Slowly rebuilding the network, Sebassis had groomed. It could take a century. Maybe two. And that was before the wait for further instructions began. He shuddered.

Drumming steps announced the arrival of his adjutants and jerked Hassian out of his thoughts. He unclenched his fist and tossed the three tokens that he'd held in it back on the table. The bent metal disks clinked as they dropped on one of the token-piles.

Silius entered the living room of the mansion, his underlings in tow. He towered over them by almost three feet. His face bore a grim expression. A small snuffling creature followed on their heels.

“Lord Hassian. The runner is here,” Silius announced.

“Let him in.”

The demon held his head up high, and his jaw locked, but his steps were shorter and more hesitant than they would have been under different circumstances.

“Kek, I hope you come with good news.” Hassian did not look up from the map.

“Yes, Mister Sir…errr Lord. I do.” The demon stepped out from behind Silius.

“You delivered our messages?” 

“Yes, Lord. I did, Lord. I told the girl what you wanted me to tell her.”

“And the second message?”

“Yes, yes. The second message. I delivered that, too. The augur, they said they finished the spell that you’ve asked for.” He swallowed hard. Then he dug through his pockets and retrieved an item. He handed Hassian a black egg. “It’ll break when the door is opened. They also said they will kill me if I ever contact them again. They only want to speak to you in the future.”

“Is that so?”

The demon nodded emphatically. “That’s what they said. But as a sign of… to communicate their… well, they asked me to pass on some information to you.”

Hassian looked at the creature for the first time. The demon took that as a sign to continue. “The Slayer is on her way to LA.”

“The Slayer? There are at least 15 Slayers in LA as we speak. LA has been run over by Slayers. If there weren’t Slayers, none of us would be stuck in this waste drain.”

“Yes, Lord. No, Lord. They told me _the Slayer_ is coming.” He emphasized the word in an effort to change the meaning. “Sunny? Bunny?”

“Buffy Summers?”

“Yes. Yes. That’s her.” Kek clapped his claws together.

“Oh, how interesting. That, of course, raises the stakes!” Hassian laughed. “Ha. The stakes! Get it?”

The demon twisted his feet on the ground and flattened his pant legs with his shovel-shaped hands. He clearly didn’t get it. 

Hassian groaned inwardly. No wonder they’d fared so poorly. Any demons that had already been in this realm had been utterly useless in the battles. They were undisciplined and disorganized and fought without any foresight. They were dense as dung.

“There is something else, Lord. The augur, they say it’s crucial that you don’t kill her just yet.”

“What?” Hassian spat. 

The demon nodded with even more vigor. His small eyes blinked. His long snout twitched. 

“I understand why we need Angel alive, but the Slayer?”

“I’m sorry, Lord. They said, you will only hold the weapons, if they’re both alive. I don’t understand it either.”

“Of course, you don’t. You know nothing. Not even why you’re here. You may leave.”

The demon did not wait to be asked anything else and slithered backward out of the room, head tilted in a small bow. Silius’ underlings followed him with cagey expressions.

“Shouldn’t we just kill the Slayer?” Silius asked when they had left. “Whatever the augur says? More Slayers just means more trouble.”

Hassian threw himself onto a black leather couch and pinched the bridge of his nose between pointer and thumb.

“No, no, we wait. If they say we should wait, we wait. We have been patient this long; a short temper will not derail us now. Besides, she might turn out to be useful. They go back, you know. The Slayer and Angel." 

"What do you mean?"

"They were a couple. It's why the Others brought him back here." Hassian's lips pulled into a sly grin. He had to admit, it was a good story. If humans were melodramatic, the Others and their missions were seeping with pathos. Silius, however, didn't look too intrigued. "The Others thought he would..." He began again, but it was clear, he had already lost his adjutant's attention. Hassian sighed. "Either way, hope is a much more dangerous infliction than despair. It's the great negator of reality.”

Silius raised his eyebrows and walked over to the large window front, taking in the same view of LA as Hassian had before. “I for one _hope_ this works. Our armies have been diminished, the Senior Partners have grown bored. We've run out of options.”

“Of course, it will work." Hassian pushed himself up from the couch and walked over to where Silius stood. Both legs rooted firmly on the ground, he raised his head and his chest, before he said, "It has to. Once we wield the knife, once we open the passages, the Old Ones will be free. The Senior Partners will not just send supplies, they'll ask us what we need."


	7. Time And Again

The goblins weren't number one on the Slayers' priority list. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn't have been on anyone's list at all. But with the decrease of humans in L.A., even goblins could become cocky, and it was not unheard of anymore that these demonic leightweights descended upon pedestrians like a pack of evil screaming monkeys. Thus when Vi had asked Angel to take the goblins off her hands, he had not only agreed, but had added that staking out their lair was a good practice exercise for Connor. 

Connor wasn't so sure about that particular assessment, but obliged nevertheless. Not every patrol had to end in a fight to the death as far as he was concerned. More importantly, though, Angel could use a slow night.

Gunn called Angel's current mode of operation' A classic Angel meltdown'. Something had gone wrong and Angel had gone into self-destruct mode. If no one staked him while he was at it, he would get back to his old self within a couple of weeks. That's what Gunn had promised. In Connor's opinion, those few weeks were already lasting too long, though. Angel killed things, Angel ate and Angel slept. At least Connor hoped that he ate and slept. Sometimes he wasn't sure about either. He had never seen Angel so wound up. Or he had, but he tried not to remember. 

When Connor had returned to L.A. after the Fall, he had suggested to Angel to start with a clean slate. The main condition being that under this new world order, none of their shared history existed. Angel didn't bring it up or try to explain. Connor didn't dwell on the fact that the man who looked only a couple of years older than him was really his father and an undead one at that. Angel had objected to all of it. He had objected to the fact that Connor had come to the city, he had objected to the fact that Connor wanted to stick around and he had objected to pretending that things were not as they were now that the truth was out. But Connor had persisted and when watching sports and killing demons together became regular activities, even Angel had agreed that Connor might have had a point. Sometimes the only way forward was to start over, even if you didn't know exactly where you were going. All you could do was drive by sight.

Angel steered the Plymouth through the side streets and then pulled onto a more extensive boulevard. Most buildings in this neighborhood had withstood the raids of the demon hordes, but their windows were dark, and the facades threw looming, crooked shadows onto the ground. Many of the street lamps that lined the sidewalk were broken, their translucent heads smashed, their bodies bent like pipe cleaners.

"How much further is it?" Connor asked. He could deal with any demon assault, but the quiet, empty places always gave him the creeps.

"Not much further. According to Violet the lair is down this street. Do you see the lime-colored building?" Angel pointed at a large, ugly concrete block further up the road. As they got closer, a faded wooden sign identified the place as Sunrise Acres. Luxury Senior Living. They parked the car, grabbed their weapons, and got out.

"It's vacant, right? I don't want to give an old lady a heart attack when we break in." Connor tried to peek through a cracked window on the ground floor, but plastic curtains the color of dirty clay obstructed his view. "Why did we take this job anyway? Do Vi and Rona have some other Slayer business to attend? Do Slayers have other business except slaying? I know they have to do write-ups sometimes." 

"They said something about a meeting with HBIC?" Angel paused and shook his head. "I wouldn't know. It was different before. There were definitely no write-ups in the past." His voice was nonchalant on the verge of boredom, a clear sign for Connor to drop the topic of Slayer homework. If Angel didn't offer to explain something in elaborate detail, it was better to stay clear of the topic altogether. The more Connor would push now, the more monosyllabic Angel would get. Most people told you about themselves by the way they spoke or how they moved; for Angel, the opposite was true. If you wanted to get him, you had to pay attention to the silences.

They went around the building and then headed straight to the front door. Connor worked the lock with a metal pick, a trick Gwen had shown him, and the door gave way. Out of habit, they checked for onlookers then they quietly snuck inside. It was a useless move. People didn't call the cops anymore. And even if they did, the cops wouldn't have come. They had more pressing matters to deal with than a case of trespassing.

The door creaked as Connor pushed it open. The exhausted rays of the street-lamps barely illuminated the entrance area, but the thick layer of dust on the built-in reception desk shimmered ashy white in their light. Chairs, potted plants, and pictures had been removed some time ago, and crusty borders of dirt and rust had stained the floor and walls in the places where furniture and decorations once had stood. The discolored linoleum floor left little doubt that this nursing home had been on the low, low end of luxurious even in its prime. 

Connor tried to take in the smells and sounds around him. "Anything?" he whispered.

Angel shook his head. "I don't really have a track. The entire building smells like dead raccoons and mothballs."

There were still aspects of demon hunting in which Angel surpassed Connor. Skulking was one of them. Tracking was another. Most of the time, at least. He could've sworn it was dead rats.

They moved on and through the hallways. They searched the rooms and offices, but all they found was more dust and dirty carpets. When they reached a set of large swinging doors, Connor took a quick look through the set-in windows. 

"Bingo!" he exclaimed.

Connor pushed the doors open and entered the cafeteria of the retirement home. Angel followed right behind. The smell of dead rodents was getting stronger. The lunchroom was one of the few spaces that hadn't been cleared completely. Tables and chairs stood together in haphazard groups and were covered in plastic drapes. Around one of the tables, the goblins had dropped a wide array of stolen goods. The pile had more resemblance with the stash of a giant trash hamster than the purposefully selected contraband of expert burglars. Besides electronics and purses, Connor could make out an overturned umbrella, a broken bicycle tire, and an old flat iron that were thrown across the heap.

"What's that?" Connor asked as he pulled out a slender bone from the pile of garbage and handed it to Angel. "Is that human?"

Angel took a closer look at what could have been a rib. Then a crashing noise outside caught their attention. Without exchanging another word, Angel and Connor swiftly moved back towards the hallway, weapons raised. At that moment, the swinging doors to the cafeteria burst open with a bang, and a dozen goblins rushed inside, howling and gnashing their teeth at the intruders.

"They don't look too happy with --" Before Connor could finish his sentence, one of the creatures flung itself forward and lashed out at him. He reflexively parried the attack with a strike of his sword, struck out again, and hit the demon in the side, almost cutting it in half. A stinking, gooish substance leaked from the body and pooled around the dead demon on the ground.

While Connor was busy with the first attacker, Angel kept three, then four of the goblins at bay. He hit one with his ax and kicked two more in the head, which only caused the creatures to tumble. The demons were not particularly strong, yet they showed remarkable resilience. Angel grabbed another goblin by the collar, ready to toss it at the rest of the pack. But before he could get rid of the creature, the demon unhinged its jaw like a snake and vomited a fountain of goo forward, almost dousing him. Angel hurled the goblin to the other side of the room, where it smacked against a wall with a wet thud. It slid to the ground, neck bent in an awkward angle. 

Connor took down two more demons, when another three of them tackled Angel's lower legs. Angel slipped on the goo on the linoleum and was pulled to the ground by grubby hands. The demons immediately started pummeling him and he slithered in the puddle, trying to get the creatures off. Connor hit one of the attackers from behind with his sword and kicked a second one. 

Angel snapped the neck of the last demon that had jumped him and then got back up. "Alright, I guess we have to do this the hard way tonight," Angel said, changed into game face, and picked up his ax again. The fight continued for several more minutes until Angel and Connor finally won the upper hand and took the last of the attackers down.

"This is so disgusting." Connor made gagging sounds as he desperately tried to get rid of the goo that covered his clothes.

Angel groaned. "Just enjoy the fact that you only have a human sense of smell." 

"I could've sworn that there was another one somewhere around here. Did you see…" 

Connor turned around towards Angel, but Angel had frozen in his tracks. He slowly retracted his fangs and his expression softened, the look on his face confused and unsure. He listened to something Connor couldn't hear, looked for something Connor couldn't see. 

A chill crept up Connor's spine. 

Something wasn't right.

Connor followed Angel's gaze towards the closed double doors. They hadn't moved an inch. The cafeteria lay empty in front of them, the only sound in the room was Connor's exerted breath. "Angel, what is it?" he hissed.

With a screech, the last demon jumped out of the trash pile and hit Angel in the head with an iron pan. Angel groaned and bent over in pain. Connor swung around to kick the creature, but then the double doors slammed open again. Connor halted. Someone moved behind his back, an object flew through the room, missed Angel by mere inches, and hit the goblin right in the middle of its chest. 

With a cry, the demon toppled over. 

"And I thought I was inventive with weapons, but trying to kill it with a skillet is really something," a female voice said.

The demon must have hit Angel exceptionally hard. He was still swaying from side to side, holding the back of his head. When he looked up again, his expression had changed from confused to deer in headlights. Like a ghost had assumed shape right in front of his eyes.

Connor had never seen Angel so lost, and for a brief moment, he wondered whether vampires could sustain lasting brain damage. Then he turned his attention back to the door - ready to punch out whoever had just entered. 

A blonde woman stepped from the hallway into the lunchroom and walked straight over to where Angel stood. She was tiny, probably not even 5'5", yet she was not in the least afraid. 

She owned this. 

Then her posture eased, and a wave of emotions washed over her face, her look one of strange intensity. Not quite Angel's deer in headlights, not quite "Oprah-gives-everyone-a-car," but something in between the two. Connor wasn't even sure she'd noticed that he was also in the room. And he wasn't sure he was supposed to be here at all. The scene in front of him unraveled with a strange intimacy that made him feel entirely out of place. As if he was the intruder and not her.

No one moved. 

No one took a breath. 

And then, as if they'd coordinated the motions, Angel looked away, and the woman lowered her eyes. She took a couple of steps forward, walked past Angel, bent down, and pulled a stake out of the dead demon at her feet. 

Connor followed her with slow steps, keeping a safe distance. 

"Angel?" she asked with a voice much less cocky than before. It was almost of tender concern. "You okay?"

Angel shook his head. "Yeah, I'm fine." His hand wandered to the back of his skull, then he moved it forward to inspect his palm. Blood was sticking to fingers. "How...?"

The woman briefly reached out her hand then quickly pulled it back. "Okay. Good."

Connor followed the interaction, until Angel and the woman got stuck again, like two actors who hadn't read their scripts and didn't know how to proceed, desperately waiting for the other to give them a cue. Connor paused for another beat, then he stepped forward and extended his hand to introduce himself. "Hi! I'm Connor. Thanks for the save there," he said before he realized his palm was still covered in demon goo. He whipped his hand off his pants and offered it again. 

The woman stared at him, as if she hadn’t understood a word he’d said. Then she took his hand and shook it. "Hi, I'm Buffy."

That at least explained _everything_. 

Connor had had an inkling, but he hadn't been sure. 

He had heard of Buffy of course. The Slayers had talked about her, when they'd explained to him who they were and where they came from. As far as the girls were concerned, she was a legend. The one who had bested the First Evil. The oldest Slayer in history. Sometimes they called her 'The General'. Connor had asked if she was more like Joan of Arc or George S. Patton. The Slayers had only laughed in return.

He had asked Angel once if he knew Buffy and Angel had fallen silent and just answered 'I used to,' which was weird and cryptic enough to let Connor know there was more to this story than a vacuum of words. But in the following days and weeks, the story got covered by endless fighting, and Connor had forgotten to dig deeper. Their present didn't allow them to dwell in the past.

The first time Connor had really paid attention to the name was when Willow had appeared in LA two years ago. She had shown up in the Hyperion, nonchalant like a traveller passing through. Flashes of memories had hit him then, and he had struggled to suppress the images of an evil Angel and a Beast that turned the sun dark.

He had overheard Gunn and Illyria whispering Buffy's name. How this was bad news. How Angel didn't need these kinds of choices on top of everything.

He heard Willow and Angel yelling at each other. It had been the first time he had witnessed Angel raise his voice at anyone. And then days later, he had heard Angel and Spike yelling, before Spike had disappeared for weeks. After he returned, neither vampire ever mentioned the fallout or a certain Buffy again. 

Truth be told, all the bits and pieces had never formed a cohesive picture, and he wasn't really sure who he’d imagined. An Ice Queen whose path was paved by demon corpses? Definitely someone different than the woman in front of him. She was much younger than he'd expected. There was nothing cold about her. Quite the opposite. The careful hesitant movements. The way she looked at Angel, as if there was nothing else except him in the room. Connor straightened up, lightly shaking his head to dispel all those notions. This wasn’t the time.

He glanced over to Angel, waiting for him to reenter the conversation "Right..?" he said. "You're Rona's and Vi's boss? I've heard so much about you from them." If he didn't know better, he would have said he saw Buffy flinch. He cleared his throat. "I guess you saved the world. A lot?" 

"That's me. Boss-Woman. Head Buffy In Charge." She gave Connor a fleeting smile.

"So what brings you to LA Buffy? Business or pleasure? Because if it's the latter, let me tell you, there is not much pleasure to be had here," Connor quipped.

Buffy looked from Connor to Angel, who’s face had suddenly grown much more serious. A stern line had formed between his eyebrows. He folded his arms. His body tense.

"I'm here to..." Buffy started and then her face underwent the same transformation. It was as if someone had extinguished a light. "Business. Business, what else? No rest for the wicked. So here I am. Not resting with the wicked," she said, the tone curt and more professional.

"Great. That's great," Angel answered, his voice of a similar dullness.

The feeling of being an intruder took hold of Connor again.

Buffy licked her lips. "I actually came here to talk to you about it, Angel. Business I mean. The girls told me where I could find you." With a wet splat, a glob of demon goo dripped down Connor's shirt and onto the ground. "But maybe now is not the right time."

"I think it'd be good if we could wrap this up first," Angel agreed.

"So how about I come over to the hotel later tonight? You're staying on Hyperion Avenue, right?"

"I am."

She gave them both a brief nod, then she was gone.

Angel and Connor stood motionless in the middle of a pile of demon carcasses and a puddle of slime.

"No, that wasn't awkward at all." 

Angel pressed his lips together in a thin line. Then he exhaled audibly, and his shoulders slumped down. "Well, why did you get involved?"

"Why did I get involved? Because you behaved like a band geek who just got asked on a date by the homecoming queen!"

"I just got hit in the head. With. A. Pan."

"Either way, I can't let you make a complete ass out of yourself in front of that girl."

"Thanks for the save Lancelot, if I need help with that girl, I'll let you know next time," Angel grumbled, "and she's not 'that girl' whatever that means."

"Angel. Dude." Connor stretched the last word longer than it needed to be. "The tale of Buffy Summers precedes her. I don't know where you guys are at, or what exactly she's doing here, but you almost had a stroke when you saw her."

Angel glared at Connor, then trudged over to one of the goblins, pulled his ax out of its torso, and cleaned the weapon on the demon's vest. "We're nowhere. She hasn't talked to me in…years." Angel halted, as if he had just realized the full implications of the statement. "I was just startled to see her. It's never good if Buffy shows up announced. Usually, that means the world is in danger or that I'm about to get mauled." He turned the weapon over in his hand, scanned their surroundings again, and then stalked out of the room without another word.

Connor was left behind with a heavy, forlorn silence settling around him.

It told him everything he needed to know.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm aware that this is probably not what you expected (or hoped for), but as I said in one of the comments, the Bangel story (and this one in particular) is a marathon and not a sprint. We all gotta hang in there for a bit.
> 
> To pick us up, though, I will post a short Bangel fic this weekend that will have quite a different vibe than this chapter ;).


	8. Hyperion

Shrapnel craters and burns pervaded the face of the Hyperion. French balconies had been ripped from the facade, shingles were missing from the roof. If Cerberus had a chew toy in hell, it must have been in a similar state. The rest of Hyperion Avenue had encountered a fate even worse than the hotel. Most buildings lay in complete ruins. Piles of debris and burned out steel-beam-skeletons were often their only remains. Whatever pack of hell-beasts had made its way through the streets of LA during the Fall, they had not taken their work in this neighborhood lightly. 

Buffy had never seen the hotel in its undemolished state. Willow had told her about it. And Faith. Slayers from different squads had briefly mentioned staying at the Hyperion after the first safe house burned down. Thus, it didn't come as a complete surprise to Buffy that people were living here; she just hadn't expected the hotel to be this busy in the middle of the night. 

At 1 a.m., most windows were still lit. A cacophony of voices resounded from inside and mixed with the chimes of Latin music. The smell of different foods, spicy and fatty and sweet, wafted through the air. She couldn't picture Angel in this place. The mansion in Sunnydale, the basement apartment below Angel Investigations - those places made sense to her. This hotel, though, was brimming over with a life she knew nothing about. It was as foreign to her as the rest of LA had become. These streets felt nothing like home.

Buffy cautiously opened the main door, and her Slayer-senses immediately went into overdrive.

The lobby was crowded with demons of different shapes and sizes. The demons, however, paid her no mind. They were busy with more pressing matters than scrambling away from a Slayer. At the far end of the foyer, three horned creatures and an older woman sat around a small table, rows of mahjong tiles between them. Judging by the desperate howls and the gnashing of pointy teeth, the woman was schooling them the hard way. 

At the front desk, a brunette girl showed two demons with snakeskin and forked tongues directions on a print-out-map, circling several downtown locations with a sharpie. Other demons stood around in smaller groups, some of them mingling with humans, talking and laughing, or just passing through the lobby. The jingle of Jeopardy blared from one of the rooms above. 

Buffy's feet got heavy as she tried to make sense of what was happening around her. Maybe she had the wrong location, after all. She was digging through her pockets for the paper with the address when a male voice made her look up.

"Can I help you?" a broad-shouldered man in a hoodie asked. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"Oh yeah, hi. I don't know if this is the right place, but I'm looking for Angel."

The man didn't seem surprised at the request. "I'm sorry, but Angel's not here. Are you in trouble? Do you need a place to stay? We have no free rooms right now, but Gwen over there can help you figure something out." The sentences came practiced as he pointed at the girl behind the counter.

One of the lizard demons had just made a joke, and Gwen threw her head back with a raucous, vibrant laughter.

"Thanks. I already have somewhere to stay," Buffy said. "When will he be back? Maybe you can let him know that Buffy was here." She felt awkward and out of place.

The man's mouth formed a silent 'O'. "You're Buffy? No shit?" He took a step back. Then as if he remembered his manners, he took a step forward again and stretched out his hand. "I'm Gunn. Let me check if Angel's already back. Just…uhm…take a seat?" He jogged off and up a staircase and left her behind in the foyer.

So that was Charles Gunn. Buffy had also heard about him from Willow. And Faith. And the other Slayers. He was part of Angel's team in LA, his friend. A member of a group of people Buffy had never met. Apparently, he had heard of her as well. That was something. Then again, maybe it was not a good tale that made the rounds. Gunn had definitely not looked too enthused. She had never heard of the woman called Gwen. Maybe she was new? She looked cute and fearless. Smiling and joking with demons as if it was the most natural thing. Maybe she lived here, too. With Angel. And Gunn. And Connor. 

Of course, Buffy had heard of Connor. No one could keep a miracle child from Watchers in research mode, even if the Slayer Organization wasn't yet what the Council had been in its prime. Someone must've told her about Connor years ago. Before Angel did whatever he'd done to keep the boy safe. Before everyone suddenly forgot that Connor existed only to find out about him all over again. Giles had told her then. With a fatherly tone and a gentleness that had almost hit her as hard as the actual news. It was the grown-up version of the 'Honey, there's something your mother and I need to talk to you about.'-conversation. She'd prepared herself for running into Connor in LA. She'd just not expected it to happen so soon. The sudden encounter had left her mind blank. The witty lines were gone, and she was rendered mute, blankly gaping at a young man who looked nothing like Angel at first glance. But then she saw the resemblance when he frowned. She saw the resemblance in that loopy half-smile. Thinking about it, her chest pinched the way an old scar itches when the weather turns. The feeling that rose was duller than it had been, but she pushed it down and buried it deep nevertheless. This was not the time.

Buffy perched herself on the outer rim of the uncomfortable couch, straightened her back, crossed her legs and uncrossed them again. She shouldn't have popped up at the demon hideout. She shouldn't have come to the Hyperion tonight. Only hours ago, this had seemed like the right thing to do. Rip off the Band-Aid of awkward hellos and behave as if no time had passed at all. 

Now it just felt wrong. 

She would've called if they'd talked at all in the last four years. But radio silence had started when Angel began working for Wolfram & Hart. He hadn't contacted her to give her a heads up, hadn't called them about Cordelia. She had waited for him to make the first move, assuming he just needed time. Then the Dana incident had happened, and Giles had refused to help with Fred. It was all stupid misunderstandings, and Giles had been sorry later, but she'd evaded calling with an explanation until it was too late. She knew it hadn't been her best move, but they were working so hard during those months, and every decision and call she made was equally important. Later, when LA became the stage of its very own doomsday spectacle, it had never felt like the right moment to contact Angel again. It had seemed better to let things blow over. For his sake and for hers. And what would she have said anyway? 'Hey, I heard people are dying like flies around you? How's the weather?' A bitter little laugh escaped her as she realized that Angel himself had never told her about any of this. It was other people's tales and hearsay. The Fall. The Senior Partners. The Hyperion. His son. His so...they didn't talk anymore. Not about the little things. Not about the big things. Not about the things that changed everything. 

"Buffy?" Angel's voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and hope flared in her chest that her worries were only paranoia. The way he said her name was so familiar. Always a question, never a demand. 

Then she looked up.

Angel took the steps on the center staircase slower than he had to; each action was intentional and measured. He circumvented two demons who carried brown paper bags with groceries upstairs. They nodded and smiled when they passed him by. Angel's face, however, was a stone facade. Whatever confusion he'd displayed at her sudden arrival in the demon lair was gone. One hand tucked into the front pocket of his pants, his gait guarded and stiff. Instead of offering an extended greeting, he directed her to an office behind the front desk. He closed the door behind them and leaned against the front rim of a large mahogany desk, not bothering to sit. 

Buffy kept standing with her back to the door. Waiting for an offer to grab a chair that did not come. "So..."

"You wanted to talk?"

"I did. I see you got rid of the slime. Don't you just hate it when they go 'kapoof' and douse you in goo? Always gets stuck in the worst places."

"It comes with the business," Angel replied.

"How are --" she tried again.

"Buffy." He held up his hands and straightened up. "I don't want to be rude, but it's been a really long day. And an even longer week. Maybe we can catch up later. Right now, can we just…"

Buffy felt her skin prickle, and her face get hot. "Right. Talk shop. I'm here for business. Business it is." She took a deep breath. "I understand you've been working with Vi and Rona from time to time?"

"Yes."

"They told you about the mole-guys?"

"Dozens of dead Kota demons in an underground cave. Yes." Angel's fingers silently tapped against the desk. When he noticed, he stopped and held tightly onto the tabletop instead. He was listening, but he wasn't entirely here. His gaze wandered aimlessly through the room. The tiles of the floor seemed of particular interest to him.

"Okay, great! I didn't know if you guys worked together regularly." Of course, she knew they did, but with Angel's current mood, it was better to avoid giving off the impression that they were keeping tabs on him. Buffy had envisioned several scenarios of how this conversation would go. Surprisingly it even underperformed her lowest expectations.

"We usually share information on demon activity in LA with them. And they with us. I don't know if they're supposed to do that. What rules do you have in your organization?" Angel continued.

And it was getting worse.

"There are no rules...well there are but...of course they can talk to you. We're on the same side," Buffy said.

"Oh, are we? I'm glad to hear that. Because for a while, I wasn't so sure everyone saw it that way." 

And worse.

"Well the whole CEO of Wolfram & Hart deal made some folks suspicious --"

"You thought I had switched sides?"

And worse.

"No. That's not what I'm saying. Angel, I know there was some discourse with..."

"I don't want to be petty, but they tried to stake Spike and me. And it's not like anyone apologized." 

"They're not with the organization anymore." Buffy didn't want to dive deeper into the clusterfuck that happened with the rogue Slayers. How the group around Simone had decided that the lines between black and white weren't divisive enough and that it was time to take matters into their own hands. "So the Kota…"

"What about the Kota? It's a much bigger problem than you thought? It must be. If you're here, this must have more than apocalyptic proportions."

Buffy swallowed hard and tried to ignore the jibe. When she was younger, a comment like this would have made her hit the ceiling. If the last three years had taught her anything, however, it was composure, or faking it at least. She, too, was tired, and whatever bitchbug had crawled up Angel's ass and died there, had to wait. Still, it stung. She handed him the scribble.

"Spike told Vi he's seen this at the Deeper Well with you?"

Angel took the drawing. "Violet showed this to me already. I don't recall seeing it, but it looks like a pretty common rune to me."

"That's what we thought. But Will and I, we went to the Deeper Well anyway, just to make sure. To find out if this nothing is something to be concerned about. It seems someone dug up a pretty powerful weapon here in LA"

"So, how do we want to proceed?" Angel asked.

"Since this concerns the Old Ones, we thought you might be able to help us. Rona and Vi said that you know one of them."

"Illyria? So that's why we're talking? You really didn't need to come all the way for this. We could have handled it."

"Of course, but --"

Angel pushed himself off of the table and walked back to the door. He pulled it open, waiting for Buffy to leave the room first. "Illyria's a bit elusive, but I can probably find her by tomorrow night," Angel said without meeting her eye.

"Really? That would be perfect. I really just want to secure that weapon and then get out of your hair."

"I can sense that." A sharp smile pulled his lips tight.

"Angel... I'm just here to help."

Angel raised his eyebrows, clearly not convinced. "Well, then let's meet tomorrow, avert the apocalypse and get you back to Europe by the end of the week." He led her back out into the foyer, huffed a curt good-bye, and started to walk back up the stairs. Right before he reached the first landing, he turned once more. "Buffy?"

"Yes?"

"Spike stays in room 501." Angel pointed in the general direction. "If you want to see him, that is. But maybe knock first before you just barge in on him."

* * *

Gunn was leaning onto the balustrade of the landing when Angel came up the stairwell. "So that was Buffy?" he asked. "The woman. The myth. The legend. To be honest, I imagined someone different."

"Someone different?"

Gunn flexed his biceps. "You know, burlier? But then that's the problem with kryptonite. It's lethal even in small doses." 

Angel glared at his friend, then stepped up next to him to watch the general commotion on the ground floor. Ever since they had started offering shelter to helpless demons and not so helpless humans, the hotel had been overrun and overbooked. And Saturday nights were by far the worst. The socializing never let up. 

"So, what does she want?" 

"I wouldn't know. She just showed up out of nowhere today." Angel had thought he'd hallucinated at first. That the goblin goo must have mind-altering properties. Of course, Angel had thought about what it would be like if he and Buffy ever crossed paths again. What he would say to her. He had gone over one thousand and one scenarios of how this would play out. Now Angel just wanted her gone. He didn't need a reminder that he was at the bottom of her priority list these days. That in all this time, she couldn't even be bothered to call. He had tried to keep his emotions contained, but all the anger and hurt were beginning to seep out of their double-locked and neatly stacked containers. And in between them was a voice even more disconcerting, asking him, 'And why would she?'. His splitting headache wasn't making it better, either.

Gunn held onto the railing and leaned back as if he wanted to stretch his shoulders. "And that's it? No call? No warning? She must think it's serious," he mused.

Angel shrugged. "Who knows? I think she just wants information? I don't know why she thinks the Slayers here can't handle it. Either way, she's here for business and not to hang out."

"Well, not after you were done with her. Judging from the face she made, you didn't take any prisoners."

"I was just professional."

"My point exactly." Gunn winked. "Just let her live is all I'm saying. We all got our own demons to fight." 

"Who told you that kind of crap?" Angel groaned in annoyance. He was surprised his headache could still get worse.

"I dunno. Must've picked it up from some old guy around here."

  
  
  



	9. Go Forward Hero

Buffy reread the report from the top. She had gone over it twice before, but very little of its content had stuck. They were missing a Slayer in North Africa. That much she had gathered at least. The girl's name only sounded vaguely familiar. She tried to come with a face that went with Rania, but her mind stayed blank. How could she not know? Rania's sister had gone missing, and Rania had set out to find her against her Team Lead's orders. Now the sister was back, but Rania was gone. Xander would take a Special Ops team to Egypt to find out more. After Buffy had read another paragraph, she zoned out again, the tight rows of letters becoming mushy grey lines in front of her eyes. It must have been jetlag. Her messed up day-night-schedule was now even more messed up due to the long-distance flight. At least the dreams had stopped, since she'd landed in LA. What a lucky coincidence that was. She shoved two mugs and a stake out of the way to make space on the table, and put the manila folder down.

The dining room of the Slayer house mirrored the state of greater Los Angeles. It was a complete disaster area. Papers, books, and notebooks were strewn all across the table and stacked on the floor. In between the piles of work materials stood mugs with crusty coffee residue and empty paper boxes that once carried take-out lo mein. The girls had argued they didn't get around to cleaning much with all the demon assaults they had to fend off. Buffy suspected it was more of a case of acute dorm life that was setting in. Living and fighting together in LA had changed the dynamics of the team. Especially since they had stopped rotating Slayers and Watchers frequently. Vi and Rona and all the others, they were more than colleagues in a supernatural hitman squad. They were friends. They were a family. 

Someone knocked on the front door, and the quiet steps of feet in socks flitting through the hallway followed. They had eight Slayers, two apprentice Watchers, and a warlock remaining in the city. Hugh, Kennedy, and Rowena wanted to pull them from the city and move them back to New York and Chicago, respectively. A week ago, Buffy would've probably argued against that measure. Now she wasn't so sure anymore. It didn't seem they were needed here. Or wanted.

A soft knock on wood made Buffy look up. For an instant, she didn't recognize the man in the doorframe. His bleach blonde hair was gone and had been replaced by an ashy buzz cut. Instead of his duster, he wore a leather biker jacket. 

"Hello, luv," he said.

Without giving it much thought, Buffy got up from her chair, crossed the distance between them, and flung her arms around Spike. He hugged her back like no time had passed.

"Spike. It's so good to see you!" She brimmed at him as he smiled back. At least someone was happy to see her here. 

"You don't look too surprised."

"The grapevine told me you'd stayed in town. I'm glad. I'm really glad." 

"And yet you never called?" Spike retorted with mock hurt. "Ha, no worries. Neither did I." He shook his head, his smile an uncertain mix between an apology and the realization that it had probably been for the better.

"You could've stayed in Europe with us," Buffy offered.

"Na, they needed me here. At least one person has to keep a level head when everything falls apart."

"So, you and Angel have been getting along?"

He laughed. "You know how it is. There are few greater joys in my life than giving the Dollar Store Dark Knight a reality check every once in a while. Though I gotta admit, getting him wound up doesn't require that much skill. It's like shooting fish in a bloody barrel."

"He does seem pretty tense." 

Spike's grin began to retreat. "Yeah, well, LA has been a complete shitshow ever since we killed the Black Thorns. We all agreed to do it, but it was his plan. And Angel being Angel, that's gonna eat him up for the next century or two."

"You almost sound like you care." It came out snarkier than Buffy had intended to.

"He's been...we've been helping a lot of people. Suppose that changes some things." The broad smile from just moments ago had vanished. Then Spike quickly changed the topic. "So what are we here for tonight? The little chatterbox just said I should come over to Slayer Central, while he and Gunn fetched the blue bird. Usually we meet at the hotel. Gets kinda cramped in here." 

Another knock resounded from the front door. Someone ran down the stairs from the first floor and flitted through the hallway. Then they heard Vi's voice calling through the house. "Ro, you ready? Everyone's here."

Buffy and Spike had already sat down, when Angel entered the living room with Gunn and Vi in tow. Behind them, a strange woman followed. Her hair was streaked with blue, as was her skin. She wore a tight red bodysuit that resembled armor or an exoskeleton more than actual clothes. Another member of Team Angel Buffy had never met. She knew what had happened to Fred. But standing here, so clearly powerful and out of place, Illyria bore little resemblance to a girl from Texas.

The Old One looked around the living room, disparagingly.

Buffy watched from her seat as everyone else trickled into the room. Angel had barely acknowledged her presence, but gave Rona a brief hug when she entered. Then he leaned over to Spike and told him something about the Xular from the third floor, and Spike nodded attentively. Not a single insult passed between the two. Buffy grew increasingly uncomfortable.

As more people entered, the merry-go-round of 'Hellos' and 'How Are Yous' between Angel's team and the Slayers continued. They exchanged short updates on the latest demon activity in the city. Someone cracked a joke that Buffy didn't get. Everyone laughed. Even the younger Slayers, who Buffy had rarely worked with, didn't seem perturbed to have vampires in their home. Instead, they asked with demonstrative casualness if Connor would also be joining. Angel shook his head and mumbled something about finals. Rowena and the Watcher Martin were the last ones to join the group in the living room. They leaned against the wall, as all the chairs had already been taken. Vi and Rona started the meeting by going over what they found out in LA so far. They talked about the tunnels and the dead demons. Everyone else listened. There were no laptops and no whiteboards. No one was taking notes. Kaori and Jules lounged on the sofa and poked each other with one-use chopsticks until a huff and a glare from Rona made them stop. It felt a lot more like the old library days than a case update at SO headquarters. Ten years were forever ago, and Buffy's chest constricted a little when her thoughts wandered to Willow and Giles and Xander and Dawn. If they had been here right now, things would've been a lot easier.

After Vi and Rona were done, Buffy continued the show-and-tell about what they'd learned in the Deeper Well. Illyria grew increasingly restless as talk about the demon burial ground continued. When Buffy finally asked her if she'd ever heard of a weapon called Atakan, her lips retracted into a sneer.

"Atakan?" Illyria spat out the name, a word too vile to even mention it. "Of course, I know of him. I know him. Atakan is not a weapon. He's a servant. A dog of the Other Ones."

"The Other Ones? Do you mean the Powers That Be?" Angel asked.

Illyria made a derisive sound. "I forgot. This is what they call themselves now. Or what you call them. How amusing. Either way, it matters not. They are not us, and they definitely are not your kind." She paused, then continued. "Before I was trapped, there was a war. A war between the Others and the Old Ones. The Others had already started to leave this plane, but they took a last stand when they allied themselves with men."

Humans and vampires at the table exchanged confused glances. They'd all heard about the Primordium Age, had heard stories about the first Slayer, and how she came to be, but their knowledge on this time in human history was spotty at best. Buffy wished that Giles was here, or Carol or Hugh. Really anyone more experienced in ancient lore than her.

"What happened then?" Angel pressed on.

"I do not know. I was betrayed by my kin before a final battle came to pass. But looking at this world crawling with humans, it appears their campaign was a success." Illyria picked up the stake from the table and started twirling it in her hand. "But I am not surprised. Atakan and his like, they were relentless, vicious creatures. Adamant in their pursuit. They would have set the world on fire to vanquish us. Maybe they did." She threw the stake up in the air, caught it as it came back down, then carefully put it back on the table, like a fragile, breakable thing. "I suppose we underestimated the Others. They are patient. They bide their time to retaliate." She looked at Angel. "They choose their champions wisely." 

If Angel thought she was talking about more than the warriors of the Primordium Age, he didn't let it on. 

"So these champions, they freed the earth from the first demons?" Martin asked.

"Freed? It was war. And the stories of wars are written by the victors," Illyria answered smugly.

"Do you know anything about their weapons?" Buffy asked.

Illyria turned towards her as if she'd only just registered Buffy's presence in the room. "To banish my kind, to kill all of my kind, men's weapons do not suffice. Even to this day, they are primitive tools." Illyria made a long whistling sound, "The Other One they called Osprey, he was their smith. He forged weapons adequate for this purpose. Atakan held the blade that cuts."

"Isn't that what all knives are supposed to do?" Rona quipped.

"You really have no notion of what you're dealing with, do you?" Illyria shot the Slayer a disdainful look.

"Please continue," Angel said. 

Illyria exhaled with labored breath, as if this was all too much for her. "They said the blade was made from the bones of a God. That it was sharpened and honed for a thousand years. It cuts everything. Flesh. Stone. Armor. It can slice through the fabric that holds this world together, if you know how to wield it. It peels the essence of the earth. The soul from the skin. How do you think they banished us?" Gathering that her audience did not grasp the concept, Illyria rewarded them with an annoyed sigh and explained again. This time slower, as if she was talking to small children. "The blade opens the gate. The javelin soars over the path. The mace breaks the passage apart. It is not hard to understand."

"There are more weapons?" Martin shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Of course there are," Illyria said. "Even the Others would not trust their own champion with unlimited power. You need all three weapons to open and close the prisons they created for us. Some of them are in this world. But even more of us are trapped in other dimensions."

"And you believe this is real?" Angel asked.

"If you do not believe this is real, then why are we here, Angel? I do not believe. I am not a mortal. I have seen these weapons on the battlefield with my own eyes. I thought they had been destroyed millennia ago. If they fall into the hands of a warrior who knows how to speak to them, someone not on your side, you will lose. No matter your numbers.

* * *

The group tried to get some more details from Illyria, but she soon became tight-lipped. Whether she didn't remember what happened during her last days, got bored by the game of question-and-answer, or simply didn’t want to speak of her past anymore, was unclear. It was time to make a cut.

“So, how do you want to proceed?” Angel asked Buffy. For the first time tonight, he addressed her directly. Angel hadn’t avoided her intentionally, he just didn’t know what to say to her. Maybe that amounted to the same thing. 

“We know more about what we’re dealing with, but we still don’t know who took the weapon. All our leads are literally dead,” Buffy said.

“We could go down into the tunnels again. Search for more clues?” Violet suggested.

“Do you want us to come?” asked Angel. Maybe he’d been too harsh. Buffy hadn’t just contacted him for the sake of resources.

“I think it would definitely help if Illyria could join, in case we find something we can’t identify. Old things?”

Angel stiffened. Then again, maybe she had.

“I’m not your sniffer dog,” Illyria said, clearly irritated.

“‘Course, not Blue. We’re all going. Right, Bossman? We love a good reconnaissance mission! We’ll all be there tomorrow,” Spike interjected

Illyria huffed with consternation, which was as much of a concession as she would give now. Her mood never went up when she was confronted with the past, and the propping and prodding about the downfall of the Old Ones had strained her goodwill towards them. In addition she abhorred being bossed around. Angel got that. Because so did he.

Before Illyria’s mood could sour further, Spike grabbed her by the arm and ushered her outside. He was probably right in doing that. “Alright, then. Lots to do tomorrow. We better get a good night’s sleep. Just let us know where we need to be, and we’ll be there.” Spike had spent enough time training with Illyria and getting her acquainted with this world, that he could anticipate her tempers before they took a severe dive down.

Gunn and Angel got up to head out as well.

Angel was more than ready to leave.

The Slayer house always made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the people. Rona and Violet had been nothing but professional and forthcoming during the last three years. He knew that they would’ve never held the demon hordes back without them. The other girls left in LA were just incredibly young. The way they talked about guys they had met and nail polish and television shows. As if they weren’t in the gravest of dangers. As if they could be normal girls who visit the mall by day and demon hunters who save the world by night. They clawed into normality like their life depended on it. There was a time he would have admired that kind of tenacity. But he had witnessed tenacity break first hand. He had been there when the realization hit that you couldn’t save the world from demons and have a normal life at the same time. The younger Slayers knew little of loss. Except for Violet and Rona, most of them had rotated in and out of LA before things got too heavy. That would change sooner or later. Nobody would be able to protect them forever. And he was the last person who could.

Then there were the Watchers, Nika and Martin. The latter had been in LA for over a year, but still looked at Angel as if he was a rare specimen in a museum exhibit. Amazed and scared at the same time. A rookie, decades behind Giles. Far off from Wesley, when he’d first come to Sunnydale. Even though they were both older than the Slayers, they had still retained a strange sense of naivety, a belief that everything would be okay. Sometimes Angel wanted to shake them.

But it wasn’t the people. It was the house. What it stood for. It was the outpost of an organization that didn’t even acknowledge he existed. 

Angel let most of the Slayers and Gunn file out of the room in front of him. Before he could follow, though, Buffy called his name. She stepped up right next to him, breaching the four feet of distance you kept in a professional setting. He could smell her shampoo and the washing detergent of her clothes, and underneath the layers of perfume, something that was just Buffy. The last time he’d been this close to her was when he handed her the amulet. He put the memory quickly back into a box and sealed it.

“Do you have a second?” Buffy asked.

“Sure.” He really wanted to leave now. Maybe if he just stayed quiet, he could walk away from this.

They went into the kitchen, while Vi and Rona cleaned up in the living room.

Buffy wasn’t facing him yet, but her fists had curled up. She took another step to towards the backwall, as far as was possible in the small room. Then she turned. “Okay. Let’s just get this out of the way because it’s driving me crazy, Angel. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” What was that about? He’d done everything she’d asked of him, and still it wasn’t enough.

“Okay. Because tonight was the third time we’ve met in two days, and you haven’t even asked me how I am.”

Had they really seen each other three times already? The last two days were blurry in his mind. This was probably the most time they’d spent together in years.

She looked at him expectantly. 

“Right. How are you, Buffy?” he asked.

“Yeah, okay. That’s not what I meant.”

“You don’t want me to ask you how you are?”

“No. Yes. I want you to talk to me like a normal person, but there seems to be some problem?”

“I don’t think it’s me that has a problem,” Angel answered. This keeping quiet plan was really working well for him.

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re mad and --”

“I’m not mad.”

“I’m doing what you’re asking me to, isn’t that enough?”

“Wow. I didn’t know that this was how we’re talking to each other now, but suit yourself.”

“What did you think how we were talking to each other? Because ususally we’re not. And it’s the same damn thing every time. Something happens in LA that irks you, that pisses you off, and you sweep in to take charge. One year it’s Faith. The next year it’s Dana. Now it’s some random artifact.” Angel knew he was unfair before he’d said it, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He really didn’t need Buffy to lecture him on manners on top of everything.

Buffy looked as if he’d slapped her in the face. “All those cases were my business.”

“Were they though? Because we dig up some magic amulet or dagger every other week here. Seven Slayers have died in LA in the last three years. But maybe that’s not the kind of case you’re talking about.”

“They knew what they were getting into. I didn’t bring this onto them.”

“People you knew have died. Cordy. Wes. But maybe they’re not case-worthy.” As soon as he said it, he felt sick. That was a low blow.

Buffy stared at the ceiling. For a moment he thought she was going to cry, but when she looked at him again her face was steely and cold - an expression he’d never seen on her, and right then she was so strange to him, so foreign, he doubted he’d ever known her at all.

“People die, Angel. In this line of work, people die. All. The. Damn. Time. Why do you blame me for that? They were all adults, and unlike some of us, they made the choice to be part of this. We don’t force women to be Slayers. I’m not mad, but maybe I should be. That whole Wolfram & Hart faceoff was careless and fucked. You could’ve easily blown up all mankind. But hey, instead, it only hit a city with ten million people. And who cleans up afterward?” 

Angel flinched. “Someone had to end this. And last time I checked, you didn’t have a problem with taking down entire cities.”

“Were you really so naive to think the Circle of the Black Thorn would go down without a fight?” 

“I definitely didn’t expect the Senior Partners to unleash Sebassis’ whole army at once. Sometimes you have to make hard choices when you try to protect people. And if you’d been here, you’d understand why I did what I did. But you weren’t. You send henchmen instead. You send Andrew to pick up Dana, when LA falls you send Violet and Rona to pick up the pieces. There was a time we had each other’s backs.” Where the hell did that come from? He had never wanted her here and be a part of this mess. 

“Oh, you better believe I had your back. And this is their job. And yes, I have other things to do now. I’m trying to lead a whole organization. Most days, I’m trying to keep it from falling apart,” Buffy snapped. “And I better get back to that. My minions around the globe are waiting for my orders.” 

Without waiting for a reply, Buffy walked out of the kitchen and left Angel behind. On the way out, she almost crashed into Violet, who was carrying several dirty mugs. The two tripped around each other awkwardly. Then Buffy was gone.

Violet walked over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and started cleaning the cups. Angel’s head was spinning. This wasn’t about swinging by for chitchat and coffee. He’d never expected Buffy to join his fight. In the beginning, he had been glad that she and Dawn and all the others were far off in Europe. But time had passed, and people had died, and as the legion of Slayers descended upon the city, it was clear that Buffy was involved, but couldn’t be bothered personally anymore. Until now. Because now something else was going on. They were all good enough to burn in LA, cannon fodder that held back the hordes of demons that had razed the city, but suddenly he wasn’t, they weren’t, good enough anymore to dig up some ancient piece of cutlery. He wanted to punch a hole in the cabinet doors, but Violet was already eyeing him suspiciously from the side. He needed to get out of here and or he’d end up a pile of dust by the end of the night.

“I’m surprised she’s here,” Violet suddenly said. “She must believe it’s much more serious than she lets on.”

Angel tried to compose himself. “It’s not exactly her line of work anymore, is it?”

Violet put a mug on the drying rack. “No, it’s not. And she has to think and act differently now. About where she goes. What she does. It’s not like everyone is just following the leader anymore. I wasn’t in Scotland, but I heard they gave her a really hard time. After the Fall, I mean.” 

He needed to get out of this conversation and fast. “Hard time how?” he asked instead.

“There is this rumor about ...that Buffy and...I don’t know if it’s true.” She twisted the sponge in her hands. Then picked up another mug and scrubbed vigorously at the dried-up coffee residue inside. “It’s none of my business. But it led to concerns that her judgment was compromised.”

Angel looked at her, confused.

“In regards to certain people,” Violet said.

Angel pointed at himself and raised his eyebrows. 

Violet nodded. “Three years ago, when it became apparent that something was going down in LA, Buffy wanted to come over immediately, but there were concerns that she wasn’t making the right calls. That she wasn’t acting in the interest of the Organization. That she was risking ten squads to save one guy. It’s complete crap, of course. No one would’ve said anything like that, if she was a man. But because she’s a woman, she had to lay low for months afterward. Prove over and over again, she wasn’t driven by emotions.”

Angel’s gaze shifted to the empty door frame. “I didn’t know,” he said.

“Of course not. Why would you? Even within the Organization, most people don’t know about that power struggle. How close she came to stepping down. Or being stepped down.”

“So how…?”

“How I know? Because she called me at 3 a.m. and asked me to come to LA with as many people as I could without causing too much of a fuss. Rona, Buffy, and I go back. We owed her one. I’ll never forget that night. That was one of the scariest calls I’ve ever received in my life.” Violet looked out of the kitchen window, then she picked up the last of the cups. “She said, ‘LA will be burning when you get there. Find Angel. Whatever’s happening, he’ll be in the middle of it. He’ll know what to do.’ When they got our first reports, they immediately increased manpower, of course. No questions asked.”

Violet put the mug on the rack and dried off her hands on a kitchen towel.

She started walking out of the kitchen, but stopped right before exiting through the doorway. “But either way, if we don’t step in to help the people fighting on our side, then who do we step up for at all?”

  
  



	10. The House Of Death

They had work clothes now. Uniforms. Like real soldiers. Throughout her years at the Hellmouth, Buffy had always fought demons in her own clothes. In jeans and t-shirts. In Halloween costumes and formal gowns. In her pajamas. In frilly blouses and mini-skirts. But that was then. Now they were all dressed in black. In the same stretch, cargo pants. In the same long-sleeve compression shirt, made from fast-drying, breathable fabrics. They wore a vest that functioned as body armor. They had gear. Gloves, cable ties, karabiner, steel ropes, and knives. Everyone carried a small cross and a vial of holy water for good measure. They didn't look like girls anymore. They didn't look like co-eds. They looked like a SWAT team. Like women, who could seriously mess you up.

Buffy checked the pockets of her vest as she went through the motions of pre-combat check-ups. All those trinkets weren't important to her. She could make do with what she found on site. 

For the girls, it was different, though. Going over their gear gave them a feeling of security and control. It provided order in a world full of chaos. She had noticed how diligent they were whenever she suited up with them. To the younger Slayers patrolling wasn't playing it by ear. They followed the sheet music. They were part of an orchestra. These Slayers had been reared in a different world than her. A world where there was always a plan and back-up. A world where someone shared your fight, and someone shared your burden.

"Before we go down the chute, do you think we should talk to your sources again?" Buffy asked no one in particular.

Rona, who had crouched down on the floor to tie her combat boots, looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"Do we have all the information we need? Is there something else?"

"You think we overlooked something?"

"You might have. Or things might have changed."

"We talked to that Kek guy just a couple of days ago."

It had been a big break. After Vi had sent the symbols over to Scotland, she had gone out to talk to her sources again to try and find out more about the mysterious cave. This time she made the demon snitches offers that they didn't refuse. For most of them, these offers involved fists, twirling stakes, and heads pressed face down into the sticky countertop of dingy bars. For two Grapplers, it was the last offer they would ever receive. In return, the sources had led the Slayers to one of the last Kota in LA: Kek.

Kek had turned out to be much more pragmatic than most of the other demons Vi and Rona had talked to and for a crate of Bud Light and two goats he had given up his side of the story. The Kota had never planned to settle on the Westcoast, but had been hired to find an artifact underneath LA. While the skirmishes with demons had kept humans and their allies occupied, several troops of Kota had dug chute after chute through the bedrock and sandstone. Then a couple of weeks ago, they had come upon an ancient tunnel system and several underground caves. Their employer had been most pleased. So pleased in fact that he had killed all the workers, who had witnessed the discovery. Kek had only averted certain death because he’d overslept that day and had never seen the actual artifact. He knew even less about the identity of his employer. These types of jobs didn’t work like that, he’d said.

It was good news. Another lead after days without new intel. Nika and Martin had immediately started to search for more information on Kota employment histories.

Still, Buffy wasn't entirely convinced. Something about the story didn’t feel right. "You know, we can postpone this,” she said a little bit louder. They really couldn’t, though. If Atakan’s knife had been taken, it was crucial that they found out by whom. And quickly.

"Are you worried?" Rona stood up and straightened out her pants. 

"No. I'm just making a suggestion." Buffy tried hard not to roll her eyes. It was always the same with the Slayers, who didn't return to headquarters regularly. They often felt overly confident, but Buffy was hesitant to go all senior-Slayer on Rona now, especially in front of the others. These girls had to be self-reliant. She would give them individual feedback after they came back from their underground trip.

Rona, however, had noticed her pause. "We've been here for almost three years now. We've been holding up well. The only reason we even called you was because --" The tone of her voice got a bit sharper. 

"Because we felt it made sense to double-check with you guys," Vi interjected.

"You called because it's the rules." Rowena laughed and put a hand on Buffy's shoulder. "I'm sure it'll be fine. We won't find anything anyway. Whoever was down there, probably looted the whole cave and took off weeks ago."

"Probably,” Vi said as she rummaged through a plastic crate with her name on it. "That’s why Spike and Gunn are going to hit up more contacts today. They know people that won't talk to us."

"How --," Buffy started.

"Angel texted this afternoon to give us a heads up." With a satisfied smile, Vi pulled out a crooked stake from the box and fastened it to the back of her belt. 

"Oh, did he? That's great," Buffy said.

No one seemed to think that texts from Angel were odd. Except for Buffy, who didn't even know he had a cell-phone. The image of Angel typing ‘j/k ;D’ popped up in her head, and she almost had to laugh until she remembered that she was still mad. The nerve he'd had. It had taken her hours, two patrols, and a BBQ Burger with curly fries to calm down. Last night was only further proof that her strategy of staying away from LA had been the right one.

"So, you guys have been working with Angel and his team a lot?" Rowena asked as she double-checked the gear of the younger Slayers. They were all set to go.

"Yeah, he's cool." Jules chimed in.

Kaori snorted.

"What?" Rowena asked.

"Cool isn't the temperature we generally use when we talk about Angel." Kaori winked at Buffy and Rowena. The younger girls started to giggle. The older ones tried to keep a straight face.

"I'm just sayin'. If he ever needs to warm up, he can totally --"

"Ladies. Do we need to wash your mouths with soap first, or can we get going?" Rona chastised the other Slayers and ushered them out of the house and over to their cars.

"It's just because she's more of a Gunn girl," Kaori whispered to Buffy on the way out, then she skipped over to Jules and linked arms with her.

Buffy, Rowena, and Vi left the building last and walked across the street towards a grey van.

"Sorry about that." Vi said, trying to be more serious. "The girls all suffer a bit from cabin fever right now. We've been working well with Angel. With everyone. It's been a very cooperative exchange."

"That’s good,” Buffy said. “So what do you guys usually exchange information about? Do you ever talk about what's happening in the rest of the world? Like Scotland?" She bit down on her tongue, before she could ask another question and unleash the whole contents of Pandora’s box.

"With Angel?" Vi asked.

"Yeah, does he ever, you know, ask?"

But it was too late now.

"To be honest, everyone's been really focused on LA and Angel's extremely professional. He doesn't talk about people. He doesn't ask about them either."

"Of course."

"I've known him for three years now," Vi said, putting the phrase in air quotes. "I know nothing about him as a person." The three Slayers got in the middle row of the van. The back row and the front seats had already been taken. Vi pulled the sliding door shut. "He's completely closed off."

Rona backed out of the parking spot and drove down the LA streets towards what used to be Staples Center. As they rolled along the dark roads Buffy barely recognized the city. Broken buildings leaned to their sides like jagged cliffs. Street lights flickered only on every other corner, yellow-tinged islands in a sea of shadows. This place used to be her home, but now it was a foreign land to her. She couldn't remember why she had caved and come here. She should've just stood her ground. Let Kennedy be Kennedy. Nobody needed her in LA. Not the girls. Not Angel. She felt ridiculous for having ever worried. 

* * *

Angel's eyes had quickly adjusted to the dark. The Slayer's flashlights barely lit the cave in front of them, but for him, the dim halo of their bulbs sufficed to get an overview of the surroundings. They'd walked through narrow passages and tubes on the way down, but soon the tunnels had become more cavernous and reached many feet in height. Still, this maze was nothing for the claustrophobic. An odor of decay and mold hung in the air, and ever so often, the earth sighed and groaned under its own weight. The thought of being buried down here crossed Angel's mind and made him shudder. In some ways, the tunnels seemed even more desolate than the depths of the Pacific Ocean. 

The group halted in a vaulted cave, marveling at the height and arch of its ceiling. 

Illyria caught up to Angel. "Darque Wurms," she stated as if it was an obvious conclusion.

"Come again?" Angel said.

"This used to be their domain." She touched a nearby cave-wall as if to inspect it more closely. "They made these halls."

"I thought it might have been giant bugs," Rona, who stood close by, mused. "You don't think they're still around?"

Illyria shook her head. "They're gone. All gone."

On the other side of the cave, Buffy, Violet, Rowena, and Jules were trying to piece the path together that the Slayers had taken on their first expedition. The girls' memories were patchy, though, and they'd walked into several dead ends already. 

Buffy pointed at a tunnel-opening, shook her head, and put her arms akimbo. She made her "I-am-the-older-sister"-face, followed by the "Why-me?"-eye roll. Angel had seen both expressions plenty of times whenever Joyce had left Dawn with them. He knew he should go over there to help them out, but he just couldn't muster the will. He should've also apologized, but then that, too, was easier thought than done. He felt deflated after last night. All his anger and frustration had hit the wall and exploded and left him with a strange nothingness inside. 

For Spike, it was different, of course. It always was. He'd called Buffy after he'd dropped off Illyria, and then they'd gone for dinner at some 24hrs pizza place and later on patrol together. To catch up, as if no time had passed. They were both over it. They'd been over it for years. No hard feelings. Spike had tried to tell Angel about the meeting when they'd run into each other at the microwave this afternoon. Angel had waited for his blood to ping, answered, "Good for you!" without having actually listened and then walked off. He was done playing these kinds of games. Standing here, Angel tried to recall the old feeling that made him want to stake Spike for merely uttering a sentence that included the name 'Buffy'. It was like pushing a bruise to see if it still stung. Before he got too close to anything remotely painful, though, he pulled back.

When the four women finally decided on how to go on, Angel, Illyria, Rona, and Kaori simply trotted after them.

The group took another turn, when the tunnels suddenly began to change. The rugged walls now emitted a strange fluorescent light. 

"We're close," Jules called over to them.

Angel cringed at the volume. He saw Buffy's back bristle up simultaneously. The younger Slayers still had so much to learn.

They took another corner and then came to the end of the tunnel, where a tall cave opened up in front of them. The sour stench of death wafted through the halls. 

"There." Violet pointed at two giant stone slabs. 

Angel inspected the scratches and the bits that had been chipped, the faded ash from trying to ignite the rock or use magic to break it open. He inhaled carefully to maybe get a track, but the smell of rot hit him with full force and covered all other scents.

He followed the others into the cave and to the sight that had made the Slayers turn. Judging from their state of decay, the demons must've been killed a few days before they had been found. He decided to double-check and began prodding the carcasses with his sword. Angel turned a demon over and touched the ground underneath the body. "This is odd," he observed more to himself than anyone else.

Buffy walked up to him and let her flashlight wander over the bodies. "No struggle."

They exchanged a glance.

"What do you mean? They look like someone struggled through them big time," said Rona.

"But the fight didn't happen here. The ground is almost undisturbed." Angel shoved his sword under another rotting carcass and flipped the body over. "And most of them aren't even Kota. Why would someone drop dead demons in this cave?" It was hard to tell at this stage, but some of the demons showed signs of having been hit by machine guns and grenades, while others seemed to have been killed with swords and axes. None of it made sense. Angel scanned the rest of the area. Aside from the tunnel that they'd come through, several more chutes lead away from the space in all directions. He didn't like this set-up. Too much unaccounted for terrain.

"I'm going to release the lights. Maybe that'll help us get a better understanding of what happened," Violet said. She opened a small bottle she'd brought with her. Inside the vessle were dozens of tiny flitting spheres, a take-out magic trick that Cain, the warlock stationed in LA, had prepared for them. "Fiat lux!" Vi called, and the lights soared high into the cave and illuminated the area in a shimmery glow. 

Buffy stepped past the demons towards the opposite end of the hall. Over there, a second flagstone barred the entrance to another cave.

Angel followed her.

This stone, too, was scratched and burned like the first one. Buffy wiped the ash off with her hand and uncovered three symbols that were engraved in the stone. She moved her fingers over their rims. A triangle with a crossed circle on the inside. A circle. A figure with a blade. More signs had been scraped into the earth above the stone, but they had faded and were not discernable anymore. 

"So Angel, since Giles isn't around, you're the closest thing we got to a guy who likes bookish things. Any idea what this says?" Buffy asked.

Angel shook his head. So this really was how they were talking to each other now. "Could be anything. I'm old, but glyphs were kind of popular before my time."

"Illyria?" Buffy called.

The demon stepped closer to them, but she, too, shook her head. "As I told you, this is a language of men."

"Alrighty. Then brute force it is. The sooner we open this piece of ancient Tupperware, the sooner we know what we're dealing with." Buffy leaned against the stone to push it to the side, but it didn't budge. She tried pushing it again. 

A draft picked up in the cave.

One of the chutes probably led directly to the surface. Angel traced the course of the draft in his thoughts, how it meandered through the layers of earth above them. He could almost hear the creaks and the sighs of the stone, how the earth crumbled and broke into brittle pieces. He could almost feel the small crumbs of dust and dirt drizzle down on him from above. The cave was suddenly much too confined. And this underground mission for minuscule clues was taking much too long. 

Angel stepped up next to Buffy. "You need a hand?" 

"Sure," she answered.

"On three. One, two..." He placed his hands next to hers and leaned forward. The surface of the stone felt warm under his palms, like the bedrock itself had come to life. 

Buffy tensed. 

The stone got warmer, the draft picked up. It danced over Angel's skin, caressed his cheek, and then a soft voice resounded in his head. It whispered in a language he didn't know, and yet he understood it all the same. 

"Why do you hold onto doubt?" the voice said, "It has always been you." 

Buffy inhaled sharply.

With a groan and a howl, the stone slid to the side, easy as a screen door. Earth and dirt trickled down from the ceiling and onto their heads.

"You heard it, right? Vi? Rona? Did you just hear someone talk?" Buffy's voice was a pitch too high.

"Except you?" Rona asked.

Buffy stomped past the stone and straight into the adjacent chamber. Angel followed right behind her. In here, the walls also shimmered blue. In the center of the room stood a sarcophagus. A simple sandstone box without adorations.

"Let's take a quick look and then leave. I don't like this," Buffy said.

"What's her problem now? I don't get her today," Rona exclaimed behind Angel. He turned to explain that the door had seemed locked and then opened too effortlessly, when he heard Buffy curse. "Oh, damn!"

Buffy had pushed the lid off of the sarcophagus and was now staring at what it had covered.

Inside the stone box was a pristine human skeleton, the long and slender bones white as snow. Expect for a few cracked ribs, it looked almost too perfect. The hands were crossed over at the ribcage and held a large knife. The knife, too, was in perfect condition. The blade was straight, with two edges, one white one gold. The hilt was black with golden inlays. 

No one had been in here before. Nothing had been taken.

Illyria came up to the sarcophagus and gently touched the shinbone of the skeleton, stroking it with a surprising tenderness. 

Buffy ignored her and dove forward. She pulled the arm-bones of the skeleton up and moved them to the side. Then she grabbed the knife from underneath and made her way towards the exit. "We need to leave right now!" she yelled. "Illyria you, too!"

When Angel stepped out of the burial chamber, Buffy had already made it to the middle of the cave and was stumbling around the carcasses.

The other Slayers seemed unsure with what urgency to follow her. 

Then they heard it. 

Footsteps, running, thudding footsteps. The clangor of metal hitting metal. Screams. 

  
  



	11. A Chance Of Flight

They didn't make it halfway through the cave, before the demons surrounded them. At least three dozen armored beasts had charged into the hall through the tunnels. They snarled and gnashed their teeth, they shook their swords and axes. Not that it impressed Angel much. He'd been in worse situations. The two Drovak demons in the group could pose a challenge. They were easily seven feet tall and weighed about 400 pounds. The tusks that sprung from their growling mouths were sharp and left ugly, festering wounds behind. Angel also recognized several Sintian marauders, a lithe demon bread that liked to attack from behind, and a hellhound among the troop. Most of the other demons, though, were ordinary grunts from the ranks of the larger demon army that had descended upon LA. The type of demon that his team and the Slayers had plowed through in the hundreds in the last three years. 

As of right now, the odds were not yet stacked against them.

The Slayers seemed to have come to a similar conclusion. Kaori and Jules took on a defensive fighting stance, ready to attack as soon as they got the signal. Even if they were young and carefree at times, they knew their drills when it came to a fight. They worked with the precision of a military unit. 

The demons raised their guards, hesitating to make the first move. Then a murmur spread through their ranks, and the creatures shuffled to the side, parting like the red sea.

Two demons emerged from behind the throng. One large and bulky, the other one more slender. Their skin was the color of curdled milk, their ears were sharp, long black horns grew from their foreheads. Sebatia. They were Sebassis' kind. But unlike the Archduke, these two looked battle-worn, their faces were scared, their gait was steady and composed. Angel had rarely seen members of this demon breed since he'd killed Sebassis, but the few he’d encountered were sly and cruel. While Sebassis had been a politician at heart, most of his brethren wasted little effort to hide their appetite for destruction.

And judging from how they zeroed in on Angel, the recognition was mutual.

"We meet at last," the skinny Sebatia called over to Angel with mock-regard. He moved without making a sound, his black leather armor an exact fit that had been precisely picked for his needs. "It's really a shame things turned out such a mess. You and I, Angel, we could've been great friends."

"Do I know you?" Angel asked.

The Slayers shifted uneasily, their attention moving from the demon troop to Angel, then to the Sebatia and back.

"You don't remember me, but I do remember you. How could I ever forget a face like that?"

"You're one of Sebassis' men?" Angel didn't recall having seen this particular demon in the Archduke's entourage.

"No. Not really. I'm Viscount Hassian. Sebassis is…He was my cousin," the demon said with the same enthusiasm as if they were talking about the weather. "But now he lies in a grave of his own making. We all get what we deserve in the end."

If Sebassis and Hassian were cousins, they must have been distant ones. Sebassis and his followers were marked by their doughy, sagging flesh. Their movements had been soft, they carried themselves with a certain lag. This Sebatia, however, had the demeanor of a compressed coil spring. 

"You see, Sebassis and I never had much in common,” Hassian continued, “We only shared some interests. Some desires."

"Let me guess? World domination, an unlimited supply of walking blood banks, and a promotion to Senior Partner?"

The demon's gaze wandered across the Slayers, seizing up each of the women. He halted when he saw Buffy, then strutted towards her.

Buffy tensed, still observant, but ready to strike, if he got too close.

"The same desires everyone has." The demon looked at her appraisingly, slightly tilting his head. He licked his lips.

Angel felt the hair on his neck stand up. His own demon rising, lingering just under the surface, ready to snap.

"I want the same things we all want. Power. Choice. The chance to end this arduous war." He touched Buffy's face, gently stroking her cheek with his long boney fingers. "Thank you for coming all this way," he purred. "I don't think we could've done it without you."

Buffy's grip on the knife stiffened. She shifted the weight in her legs.

The demon lowered his hand. "Alright, you two, let's wrap this up. You give me the blade. All of you wal --"

Buffy lunged forward and drove the knife deep into the demon's belly. "The bad guy monologue is really overrated. No one cares about your motives or your life story. It also tends to get you killed."

Hassian let out a gasp.

Buffy strengthened her grip on the handle of the knife, ready to pull it back out. But before she could do so, Hassian grabbed the hilt below her hand and drove the knife deeper in.

He locked eyes with her. He started to tremble. In a move that must have cost exceptional effort, the corners of his mouth tilted back up and into a sinister smile. Then he let his body fall backward. The sudden pull of Hassian's weight ripped the knife from Buffy's hand. The Sebatia stumbled to regain his footing. He twisted the blade twice inside the wound, until the golden edge was at the top. Laughter slithered from his lips, then a mumble of words followed. With one swift move, he pulled the knife from his belly.

The cut oozed out a dark blue, viscous liquid that ran down the demon's torso and dribbled to the ground. Blood soaked his clothing as the wound grew in size, eating away at the flesh until the hole gaped from sternum to groin.

Demons and humans alike watched the Sebatia in stunned horror.

Hassian shuddered and bent over. He gasped and wheezed, making horrible whistling noises with every breath that he took. He howled. He bent back up. He became utterly still, then took a stride forward, and stepped right out of his own body.

Nervous grunts and the sound of shuffling feet rose in the cave.

Instead of one demon, two identical creatures stood in front of Buffy. The only difference between the two was the gash that marred one of them. 

The uninjured Sebatia took the knife from his twin, they stared at each other for a second, and then the injured demon folded like an empty husk. All that remained on the ground was a translucent pile of matter that vaguely resembled the discarded skin of a snake.

The surviving twin started to laugh hysterically and stepped up closer to Buffy again. "Okay, I get it. Now I get it. You're not a firecracker. You're an atomic bomb. I might've gone to hell for that, too." He winked at Angel and wiped a tear from his eye. "But guess what? I can also explode." Hassian lunged forward, grabbed Buffy's head in his hands, and smashed his forehead into her face. 

Buffy stumbled backward, lacerations on her face, blood running from her nose. 

For a moment, neither demons nor Slayers moved - then all hell broke loose.

Angel didn't see who landed the next blow, but demons were rushing towards Slayers now, fists were flying, and steel hit steel in a harsh clangor. Jules and Rona stood back to back, slashing at their opponents. Kaori stumbled over the corpse of a Kota and dropped to the ground. Her arm broke through the chest of the decaying body as she braced her fall and got stuck between the ribs. Rowena was at her side only seconds later. From the corner of his eye, Angel saw a red and blue shape landing a round of kicks. Bones snapped with ugly crunching noises. Illyria was doing her part. One of the Dovrak advanced and swung his ax at Angel. Angel parried the blow. Buffy went after Hassian, taking down one, then two, then three demons that got in her way. 

They were gaining the upper hand.

Angel had just cut down the Dovrak when he felt a draft pick up again.

Hassian, knife still in hand, had put several yards between himself and Buffy and retreated to the back of the cave. There he performed a strange kind of dance. He wiggled the knife through the air and stabbed an invisible enemy only he could see. Then he lifted the blade in a careful peeling motion, as if he was slicing the delicate meat of a fish from the bones. Around the demon, the air shimmered and wafted, and then slowly, ever so slowly, a small cut appeared.

The draft became stronger.

The edges of the cut tore apart, and a vortex opened up like the mouth of a ravenous beast. Beyond the cut lay are darkness more desolate than anything Angel had ever seen. His feet, suddenly exhibiting a will of their own, stopped him in his tracks, and he stood hypnotized by the vast nothingness. 

Hassian quickly stepped away from the vortex he had created, trying to redo the procedure in a different spot, but Angel hadn’t been the only one to witness this strange feat.

Violet came charging for the Sebatia from across the cave. Right before she reached Hassian, though, she got blocked by his larger companion. The two dueled until Violet dove forward to deal a killing blow. The demon sidestepped her attack with a surprising amount of grace and struck her in the back. Violet fell and lost her weapon. Someone screamed. The demon bent over Violet to grab her head, but she spun herself around, pulled a dagger from her boot, and rammed the blade into the demon's right eye. 

The burly Sebatia snapped backward and howled in pain. A short wave of relief washed over Angel. But then, instead of faltering, the Sebatia bent down again, grabbed Violet, and lifted her over his head. Violet struggled and kicked at him, but it was no use. With a growl, the demon tossed the Slayer away from him and into the vortex Hassian had created. It had all gone so fast. One moment Violet stood in their midst, the next moment she was gone. 

Angel heard another scream and saw Buffy changing direction and going straight for the vortex. Without thinking, he rushed forward, managed to tackle her and pulled her down. They fell onto the ground together in an awkward heap. Buffy punched his face, yelled at him to get off, to let her go, tried to push him away. Then her struggle was drowned out by a horrid sound. 

A growl rose from the void and echoed through the cavern. 

A spindly claw reached up from the dark and clung to the frayed edges of the cut. The vortex extended like a rubber band, and then a giant creature pulled itself through the opening and lurched into their world, carried on the sickly sweet smell of half-digested meat and compost. 

The monster screeched and unveiled a mouth with a thousand teeth. Not worm, not centipede, it was the product of nightmares.

Buffy stopped fighting Angel and stared at the beast in horror. 

Around them, the demons scattered. Slayers were running. All disregarding the fight they had just been involved in, in favor of getting away from the giant worm-monster.

In the chaos, Angel suddenly noticed the red and blue shape again. Unbothered by the wave of panic and the giant creature, Illyria went straight for the vortex. She stopped right in front of the cut, lifted her hands next to its edges and started physically pulling them back together. The vortex shrunk and shrunk until it was almost its original size. Angel couldn’t fathom what demonic power could do such a thing.

Illyria trembled with the struggle of closing the rift, unaware that Hassian was creeping up behind her.

Angel shouted her name in warning, but it was too late. 

The horned demon lifted the knife and stabbed Illyria in the back. Illyria screamed in agony and rage. She whirled around, but the Sebatia was faster, and with one hard push, he shoved her into the same vortex that Violet had fallen into.

There was a hole in the world.

All sense left Angel's body.

Then the larger Sebatia stepped up to Hassian, his eye still be bleeding. He lifted a golden mace. He swung his arm in a helicopter motion, turned it and turned it and hit the vortex. The clank of a hundred shattering windows echoed through the cave. The earth shook. The worm-monster roared.

Angel grappled with getting back up, grabbed Buffy and tried to move, but the worm-monster hauled itself forward again. Buffy and Angel scrambled and crawled away just in time before they got smashed. 

The worm slithered through the cave, trying to lift its body up to full height, but it was far too large for these halls. It raised itself up and rammed the ceiling in the process. 

They were still too close. Angel didn't even have a weapon anymore. Couldn't find it in all the chaos. A clump of earth hit him in the head. The worm-beast swerved. One wrong step and it would squash Buffy and him like ants.

The creature lifted itself again. Hit the ceiling once more. Cracks tore through the ceiling. The stone above Angel started to crumble and break. Head-sized chunks of earth fell down and smashed into a thousand pieces on the ground. The walls groaned. The creature hit the ceiling, again and again, trying to get out or trying to burrow through. More and more earth began to fall.

Angel didn't see any of the Slayers anymore, couldn't tell where the last of the demons were rushing. The Sebatia were gone. Buffy staggered next to him, holding her head, blood was running down her temple. He could smell its coppery sweet tang even above all the chaos and the corpses. Angel took hold of Buffy's hand and pulled her towards one of the tunnels. Further away from the worm, further away from the falling earth. They stumbled through the hall for three, four, five steps, they had almost reached one of the chutes. Then something hit Angel in the back, and everything went dark.

* * *

When Buffy regained consciousness, earth and dirt were covering her whole body. For a second, she thought she would have to dig herself out of the soil again, and the instant flash of terror that came over her was so great that she could barely form a coherent thought. But then someone shifted above her and moved clumps of rock and earth from her body and from her legs. And before her breathing got too erratic to suppress, before she panicked, two hands pulled her out. Angel let go of her immediately and Buffy crawled the last few feet forward by herself. They slumped down next to each other, propped up against the tunnel wall. 

The way back to the cave was cut off by a heap of dirt, where the path forward led to, was was impossible to discern.

Buffy didn't know how long they sat in the collapsed tunnel. It could have been minutes, hours, or days. In the darkness of the chute, she lost all sense of time. Buffy tried to take an inventory of injuries on her body. She carefully turned her neck, touched her face, and flexed her joints, but all she felt was the sting of smaller cuts and the throbbing of expanding bruises. The rush of adrenaline from the fight was subsiding, and a sickening brackishness rose in her throat instead.

Angel cowered next to her in silence. Didn't move an inch. The only proof of his existence was the slight pressure of his shoulder, where it brushed up against her own. If it hadn't been for this minimal touch, she would've thought he'd vanished and left her alone in the dark. 

Around people, Angel faked being human so well. He took unneeded breaths when he talked to them, he walked with intentional sounds so people wouldn't get startled. He shifted and fidgeted more than he had to. Angel only ever stopped the charades when he felt completely at ease or in moments like this one, when he didn't want to be found. Sitting here in the dark with him, Buffy was reminded of how quiet he could be when he wanted to. How still a dead body really was. She'd almost forgotten. Part of her urged to reach out and apologize for yelling at him, apologize for hitting him. After all, he'd only wanted to save her from a tactical mistake. But the words didn't come. There was a part of her that was still mad that he'd kept her from going after Vi. That he made a choice for her. Again.

"We have to go back," she finally said. Her voice sounded much smaller than she'd expected. "Angel. We have to find a way back and make sure everyone's alright." It was a statement, a question, and a plea all at once. If he agreed, they could still do it.

"Buffy…"

Buffy started to get up, but his hand pinned hers down. 

"Buffy... there's nothing we can do right now."

Her eyes began to burn. "But -- "

"Buffy. It's done."

Her breath came shallow and harsh. She tried to contain it, to let it not escape in a hiccup. She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. At least Angel couldn't see her right now. "I knew them, you know." She dug her nails into her palms and squeezed her eyes shut. Their faces flashed by in her mind. "All the Slayers who've died in LA in the last three years. I knew all of them. We're not friends. I'm not their friend. But they're my…" What were they really? Her Slayers? Her team? Her responsibility? "They rely on me to make the right calls." She swallowed hard and let the back of her head hit the coarse wall behind her. "Mirjam. Sophia. Fatima. Alex…"

"...Reese. Marisol. Beatrice," Angel said, sounding similarly deflated.

"Vi," Buffy's voice started to crack, "I couldn't keep any of them safe." Her words dropped heavy between them, and the earth trembled a little as they hit the ground.

Angel's fingers brushed against hers, then he wrapped them around her hand, the grip hesitant now. "Neither could I. And I was right here." The earth shuddered a little again. "It wasn't your fault. You can't save everyone. And you don't have to fix everything that's broken. No one can do that." His grasp around her fingers tightened. His thumb lightly stroked the back of her hand. Then he let go.

* * *

Buffy and Angel left their hide-out shortly after, creeping through tunnels without exchanging another word. Maybe the demons or the giant worm were still around. Maybe they weren't. Either way, they had to start moving at some point. No one would come to their rescue any time soon. Buffy felt numb and stupid. She'd wanted to get this over with so bad, and it had all seemed easy enough. Dig up some leads. Find the artifact. Punch some baddies. Go home. But the girls were less experienced than they believed. She knew that. And yet she'd just let it go. Rowena hadn't been worried. Angel had seemed so unconcerned. He'd acted as if this case couldn't have been more simple to solve, but he wasn't part of their team. He didn't know their strengths and weaknesses. A knot formed in her stomach. If she wanted to be the leader, she couldn't let others keep making decisions for her. She could practically hear Kennedy's voice in her head.

"Goddamn!" Buffy hissed, as she tripped over a crag in the ground. She'd dropped her flashlight during the fight, and finding her way through this dark and silent maze without it was almost impossible. The luminescent glow on these walls was sporadic at best and barely illuminated the path in front of her feet. They probably hadn't even come down this particular chute on the way to the caves. She tripped again.

When Buffy stumbled for the third time, Angel grabbed her hand and pulled her through the dark.

Soon after, they reached a crossroads, and Angel stopped, listening for sounds, tracking scents, considering how to proceed. He let his arms sag. "They knew we were coming," he said. "And then they let us go."

"I know," Buffy answered. The demons hadn't fought nearly hard enough. They'd all lacked a certain kind of zest. Except for the worm-monster. That one hadn't cared about smothering them all. "What I don't know is why. They already got the knife. We handed it to them like a cake on a platter. Unless..." She squeezed Angel's hand, reflexively.

"Unless they want something else," Angel conceded. Then he pulled Buffy to the passage on their left.

* * *

It was long after midnight when they finally made it out of the tunnels. The ruins of what used to be the Staples Center loomed menacingly above them like the burned-out spine of a giant hellbeast. Reconstruction hadn't yet made it to this part of town, and since the Lakers and the Kings had moved to other cities, no one was pressing the issue. Buffy didn't know if luck or expert vampire tracking skills had led them to the original entrance of the caves. She didn't ask. 

Angel was still holding onto her hand, dragging her out of the fenced-off disaster site and into the streets, zigzagging around buildings and through alleys, until he seemed somewhat content with the distance they'd put between themselves and the tunnels. When he finally let go, Buffy felt strangely unbalanced.

The alley he stopped in was like any other she'd seen in the last couple of days. Gloomy and quiet and filled with rubble that had been pushed from the main streets and off to the side. Someone would come to pick it up someday. They only had to figure out where to pile all the debris first.

Angel paced up and down the narrow backstreet. Once, twice, three times. Like a big cat in a cage. Then he picked up a large chunk of concrete from the ground and hurled it against a wall. The block broke apart in a cloud of dust. Angel combed through his hair with his hands, leaving dust particles in the strands, then he pressed his face into his palms. He inhaled deeply, and let the breath go with a curse. "Okay. What do you think?" he finally asked. "Was it all a set-up?"

Buffy gave him a puzzled look. "I…"

"First hunch."

"Yes. They wanted us to go down there. The leads were planted. The dead demons, the rumors, the guy Rona and Vi met with."

"Why us? Why now?" He started kicking around smaller pieces of debris and gravel. "It's been almost two weeks since Rona and Violet found the cave."

"Who knows. Maybe it was just a lucky first try. We really did run after the bait like..." 

"...complete amateurs," Angel said and started pacing again. "I should have known better. I didn't think this through. I just wanted it..." 

"...to be over," Buffy whispered. She slumped down on a large slab of concrete.

Angel stopped moving. Buffy could feel his gaze locking on her, peeling off layer after layer, taking her apart. The desire to dig a hole in the ground and go hide flared up in her chest, but then she pulled herself together and met his eye. "Illyria and Vi are gone because of us; demons took hold of a powerful weapon, and the other Slayers might be injured or dead."

If possible, Angel's expression got even more desolate. All the stoicism of the last days had vanished; his face mirrored her own grief now. He didn't look as old and mature as he used to. He looked like a 20-something who was drowning in sorrow, unable to keep afloat among the world's harms. "So, what do we do now?" Angel asked. "We have to find these demons and get the knife back."

"Do you remember what Illyria said? The knife cuts a hole, the javelin finds the way, the mace breaks the gate. It's not just the knife. We have to find them all. Otherwise, who knows what will happen."

“They already have the mace,” Angel said, “They used it in the cave. The only thing they need is the javelin.”

“Which is why,” Buffy gestured at her whole body. “We’re still alive.” She wanted to scream.

"They want us to get them the last weapon. We already got the knife for them and now..." Angel curled up his fists. Guilt and sadness were slowly being overtaken by anger.

"Is there another option?" Buffy asked.

Angel shook his head. “Illyria was adamant about the fact that you can only control the damage, if you control all three weapons. What if they open another vortex? Or several? What if they find the Old Ones. Right now we have no way to undo that.”

Buffy felt sick too her stomach. Her head was spinning. "So who can we ask about this? Our Watchers are already digging through mountains of old books and tattered scrolls, but they've found nothing so far. Don't you have a clairvoyant friend? The green guy who sings?"

"Lorne is gone." Angel pulled a cell phone from his inner coat pocket, pressed the buttons, and shook it a little to see if it still worked. "But I might know someone else who can help." The phone sprang to life, and he made a call. 

When nobody answered, Angel left a message.

"So who did that voice mail go to?" 

"The Powers That Be."

  
  
  



	12. Asking The Oracle For Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 concludes the first part of the story. On the one hand, I can't believe it took this long, on the other I can't believe we're here already. I've been working on this fic since around July of 2019 - most of the time, without any feedback or anyone to bounce my ideas off of. So, I want to take this moment to say thank you for all the ongoing comments, kudos, and support that I've received since starting to post this. It really means a lot to me. I also want to say thank you to thewiggins and andtheyfightcrime again for betaing (parts of) this story, making sure I make sense and pointing out when I fabricate English words (why are there not unlimited compound words?!). Read their stories! They are amazing writers!

Buffy sat in the kitchen, trying to eat, but every motion felt like a test of her will. The fork was made of lead, too heavy to lift; the food was made of tire rubber and sand, impossible to chew. She moved the rice and vegetables back and forth, took a bite. The kitchen light above the table flickered. She stared at it, hypnotized by the jittery flash. Someone would have to change the bulb. The refrigerator gave off a buzzing moan, as if the life of a kitchen appliance was just too much work. Storing the milk, keeping the leftovers cool. It was all too hard. 

The rest of the house was quiet. Everyone else had long gone to bed. They were exhausted from fighting, from crying, or both. When she'd returned, she'd seen the disbelief and devastation on their faces. Rona and Kaori had come home a few hours earlier, injured, but mostly in one piece. Rowena was at the hospital with Jules. And Vi…Vi was gone. 

Rona had given her a brief update on how they'd gotten out of the tunnels, but she was inconsolable and done in, and most of her story had made little sense. During the commotion that the monster-worm had caused, the Slayers had taken their chance and bolted. Jules hadn't complained during their retreat, but as soon as they'd reached the entrance of the tunnels, she'd collapsed. 

When Buffy returned alive and told everyone that Angel had made it, too, the Slayers were so relieved that they hadn't asked any further questions. Where Buffy had been in all this and why she hadn't protected the other girls. Instead, they'd hugged her with shaky arms and tear-streaked faces. 

Overall they'd fared much better than Buffy had dared to hope. A part of her, though, had expected them to be furious. Had wanted them to feel some form of resentment that she'd come home, when Vi had not. But there was no anger and no bitterness, and that made the whole situation even harder to take.

Buffy moved a piece of broccoli from the left side of the plate to the right.

Thirteen. 

She knew exactly how many Slayers they'd lost in the last years. Seven in LA, two in Belize, one in Japan, one in Italy. Two Slayers had belonged to Simone's group and died when they'd attacked the castle. They'd tried to overthrow the leadership of the Slayer Organization after they'd been pulled from LA for going renegade. Faith had taken both of them down. She'd saved everyone at Dunford that night, but that didn't make it any easier on her. Nobody knew where she was right now or if she'd become another number herself. 

And now, Vi.

Buffy scraped the remaining food into the garbage bin and left the dirty plate on the counter. She couldn't increase the number in her head to 14 just yet. And definitely not to 15. Buffy dragged herself upstairs to the guest room. On the nightstand, her mobile blinked. She had one unread message.

_"Hi Buffy.  
Friend says he can help.  
Hyperion tomorrow 9pm?  
A."_

At least their next steps were planned out. Tomorrow she'd figure out how to find these demons and then she’d stomp them out with force. That would keep her busy for a day or two. Everything else would follow. She read the message again. Angel had gotten a hold of the Powers That Be surprisingly fast. Maybe you didn't have to pray at an altar anymore and wait in silence for the gods to send you a message through a burning bush. Maybe a hotline call or an email to customer support was all it took these days.

_"Hi Buffy.  
Friend says he can help.  
Hyperion tomorrow 9pm?  
A." _

That was the first text Angel had ever sent her. There was no winking smiley face. There was no three. No angle bracket. In another life, she would've been disappointed.

* * *

Buffy left the Slayer house under the excuse of getting some air. It wasn't a complete lie. If she'd stayed a moment longer, she might've run her head into a wall. Nobody had wanted to go out the whole day, and by early evening, the communal grief had become unbearable. They really did share everything now.

Buffy and Rowena had spent hours recapitulating what had gone wrong in the tunnels. Carol and Wood had insisted on a conference call as soon as they'd gotten word of a missing Slayer, and they'd gone over and over and over what had happened the night before. The Watchers didn't want to assign blame, they wanted to be thorough. Debrief as long as the memory was still fresh. It was a procedure to keep everyone safe, which Buffy appreciated, even though she wasn’t in the mood to follow standard protocol just now.

Yet she put on a stoic front and told them everything she knew. Everything except for where she was going tonight. They had already risked and lost too many people, and the girls were in shape for more reconnaissance. It was better to let them rest until they had their emotions back in check. If she and Angel found out anything, Buffy would share the information later.

Angel waited for Buffy in the lobby when she arrived at the hotel. Or maybe he didn’t. He was standing behind the counter, gaze fixed on a computer screen with Gwen.

Aside from the two, the entry hall was as busy as last time. Demons and people came and went. Soft music played on one of the upper floors. Someone laughed. It was less jarring than it had been during her first visit. Now the atmosphere was almost homey.

Buffy watched the commotion around her, she watched Angel and Gwen. The woman pointed at the screen, Angel said something, Gwen rolled her eyes, Angel made a face, they laughed.

Buffy felt the urge to turn on her heel and leave. 

Then Angel looked up and gave her a sheepish smile. It was too late now.

Buffy stepped up to the front desk. "Hey! You ready to head out?" she asked.

Now Gwen looked up, too. "Yes, he is. I've been trying to explain VLOOKUPs to him for hours, but it's a lost cause.” She turned back to Angel. “You're really lucky I stayed." Then she rolled backward with the office chair and stretched her arms over her head. "I'm just gonna show our supply calculations and bookkeeping to Volchak. He can't read human writing, but I'm sure he's better with computers than Angel and Gunn."

Angel let out a forced laugh that told Gwen exactly how funny he thought she was, grabbed his jacket, and stepped around the counter. “I won’t be long. Don’t short-circuit anything of value.”

"What? That only happened once. And it was only because my device got damaged in a fight,” Gwen retorted with incredulity. Then she added with more reserve “You know you'll find Illyria, right? Computers are one thing, but nobody puts you in a corner when it comes to saving people."

Angel just nodded. Then he and Buffy headed out.

* * *

After a short drive, Angel pulled up on the curb across from their destination. The street they were on had suffered a lot less than most in LA. It was neither in a good nor in a bad part of town. Particularly central or far out. It was a random stroke of luck that the buildings had remained standing and almost intact. Regardless of their good fortune, most residents of this street had not stayed around. The neighborhood must have been lively a couple of years ago, now only a few cars passed them by, and the windows on the block were dark. A large flickering neon sign, advertising that 'The Soda Shop' was still open 24 hours, illuminated the street like a lighthouse. 

Buffy unbuckled and opened the passenger door, then she pulled it back shut. “Earlier at the hotel, what did Gwen mean when she said find Illyria?”

Angel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Here’s the thing,” he said, “I had a thought today. What if Illyria and Violet aren't dead. What if they're just in another dimension?"

"Like the world without shrimp?"

"The what?!"

"The...nevermind I follow."

"Neither of them is helpless. Maybe they survived. We never saw the bodies. So until we have proof that they’re dead, we should focus on getting them back. All we have to do is find out where the knife and the mace are, get the javelin, and rescue Illyria and Violet."

"Do we also kick someone's ass along the line?" Buffy asked, her mood visibly picking up. This notion might have potential.

"Oh, yes! We'll punch people."

"Okay, great. I was hoping you'd say that. So once we have the weapons, how will that help us find the girls?" This plan was taking shape.

"That... I don't know yet." Or not.

"That was your whole plan? Find weapons, start rescue mission, hit bad guys."

"I only came up with it 30 minutes ago," Angel mumbled.

"Okay. Fair point. I can work with that for now. Especially the punchy part. It's my kind of strategy." Buffy thought about it some more. "Can I be the one to punch out the horned feta cheese blocks?"

Angel unbuckled and opened his door. "We can draw lots about that later. Let's talk to the Powers first." 

* * *

When they entered The Soda Shop, it became clear that the place had not only been spared by the Fall, but by every fad and disaster since the 1930s. The counters were covered in checkered tile, the chairs and benches were holstered in teal plastic fabric, and a jukebox quietly crooned from a far end corner of the dining room. The patrons, too, looked like they'd come here religiously for the last few decades.

"Table for two?" the hostess asked as Buffy and Angel entered.

"For three. We're here for ice cream sodas," Angel said, "My favorite is the Purple Cow."

"Oh, go right ahead, then." The woman made a sweeping motion towards the back end of the room.

Angel thanked her and went straight for the bathrooms. Buffy followed but stopped when they reached the grey swing door.

"You comin'?" Angel asked as held the door open for her. He stepped ahead again, passed the 'Men's' and 'Women's', and opened a door marked with a 'Staff' sign.

Behind the door lay another hallway with bathrooms with the same 'Men's' and 'Womens' signs. They exited through a teal swing door and stepped right into a second soda shop with a more exclusive clientele. Two horned creatures in leather vests occupied barstools at the counter. Three women with blue skin, no hair, and robes sat in a booth, enjoying sandwiches and fries. They broke out in a fit of giggles as one of them mentioned a certain Steve. The scent of cotton candy and spearmint hung in the air.

Angel went straight to the only other occupied booth. 

As they came closer, Buffy recognized the man with the fedora. "You?" she asked aghast.

Angel glanced from Buffy to Whistler and back. "You know each other?"

"We met briefly in '98. You were, how do they say, indisposed." Whistler tilted his hat back. "How do you do Buffy?"

"Mostly not planning to send Angel to hell, so definitely better than last time."

They scooted onto the bench opposite of Whistler. 

The demon kept stirring his purple ice cream soda with a spoon. Then he took a big slurpy sip through the equally purple straw. "You guys should really try their floats. They're amazing," he said and made a small waving motion at one of the green-skinned waitresses. "To be honest, I get a tad sentimental meeting both of you here. I've been doing this job for a long time, but you two are definitely among my favorite kids."

"And what is it you do exactly, besides passing on un-motivational advice?" Buffy quipped.

"Whatever the Powers That Be ask me to do, but relationships are my specialty. I find people. I read people. I introduce people." Whistler took another sip. "But I suppose a trip down memory lane is not why we're here."

Angel clasped his hands together over the tabletop and leaned forward. "We think we're being played," he said in a low voice as the waitress beelined back to their table.

"Oh, you probably are. A Boston Cooler and a Coke Float, please." Whistler smiled at the demon as she took down the order. "But that's one of your smaller problems right now. Word on the street is that a certain knife to rule them all has already been unearthed."

"You don't seem too concerned," Buffy observed.

"You remember when Rome was burning down? I was there. What do you want me to do? Run around in circles, wave my hands in the air and scream? I'm extremely concerned, but there's nothing I can do about it. I don't have marching orders." The waitress returned and put the drinks down on the table. Whistler moved the Coke Float in front of Buffy and the Boston Cooler in front of Angel. "And to be honest, I'm also not a weapons expert. Especially not when it comes to this set. Even I'm not old enough for that."

"So who is?" Angel asked.

The demon let out a small whistle. "We're talking about the Primordium Age here. Far as I know, there's no one left from those days on this plane." He fished a spoon of ice cream and sprinkles from his float and stuffed it into his mouth. "But you could talk to the Lady in the Lake about your missing WMDs. She might be able to tell you how to find them." He began stirring his soda again, squinting at Buffy and Angel, as if he'd forgotten his reading glasses. "Other than that, you guys really need to start some anger management classes. No wonder you keep making questionable choices. If I were you, I would definitely not invest in the stock market or get a new haircut right now, let alone try to save the world."

Buffy and Angel shifted awkwardly in their seats and slid further away from each other.

"What? That's why you called me, wasn't it? You wanted to know how to solve this mess."

"We came here for insights on the weapons, not for a 2-for-1 mind read," Buffy said.

Whistler emptied his drink with a long, slurping sound and moved the glass to the side. He picked up a napkin, dabbed his mouth, and then gave them a weak smile. "You two are so terribly alike." He hesitated for a moment. "I mean, I knew that. That's why we..." He chuckled and then his voice took on a soft far away tone. "It still gets me, though. Even after all you've done. Even after all you've seen. You just don’t believe. You still hold on to doubt." Then he shook himself and the spell that had come over him was gone. "Now drink up, before the ice-cream melts." 

  
  
  



	13. Half-Embarked And Sailed

**BOOK II : WANDERING**

_Long Beach, CA, May 31st, 2007_

Planes taxied on the airfield; their lights twinkling in the night like tiny fallen stars. The wall of glass in front of them kept all sounds from the tarmac locked outside. Shrouded in quiet darkness, the world seemed set in a state of perpetual slow motion.

Buffy scooted back and forth on the worn-out cushion of the plastic chair, trying to find a comfortable position to sit in, but every angle felt awkward and wrong.

Angel didn't seem to mind. He was back to impersonating a statue, unmoving, not talking, blankly staring outside.

Few passengers shared the waiting area with them so late in the evening. Most of the other travellers sat quietly by themselves or ate a small dinner. A couple with a young boy, the first child Buffy had seen since her arrival in California, passed them by. The boy carried a stuffed monkey in one arm and a colorful backpack over his shoulders, and when his mother let go of his hand, he ran straight up to the large windows and pressed his face and hands to the glass. He lifted the monkey, so the stuffed animal could see the planes, too, and called his father over. Angel's eyes followed the family. They followed the father, and they followed the boy as the child pointed out a dolly with luggage, a belt loader, a tank truck.

Buffy searched for gum in her purse, pretending her gaze didn't follow Angel's, pretending she didn't want to ask what it had been like. What it was like to be Connor's Dad. But the years of not talking stood between them like a second wall of glass. She could clearly see Angel on the other side, and yet he was impossible to reach.

Either way, there were more important questions for which she was missing the answers.

For one, Whistler hadn't helped as much as she'd hoped. The demon had been cryptic on many topics and feigned complete ignorance on others. Talking to him was like wading through a moor, getting stuck in sludgy water, pulling your feet out, and getting stuck again. In the end, the advice to visit the Lady in the Lake and obscure driving directions were all that he'd offered. Whistler had been unmoved by persistent questions, and at some point, they'd just let it go. The ice cream in the sodas had melted by then, and though Buffy had drunk half of hers and discovered that it was surprisingly good, Angel had left his untouched. She could still taste the sugary sweetness of the drink on her lips. It had a nostalgic flavor to it, like summer days at the beach and riding the ferris wheel at the pier with her Mom and Dawn. It reminded her of much simpler times than these.  
  
Angel had been less surprised at Whistler's evasiveness. It was always like that with messengers of the Powers That Be he'd told her later. You took whatever information they gave you, you tried to make sense of it, and then you hoped for the best. They didn't help. If you were lucky, they gave you a nudge in the right direction. Buffy had to admit that she'd never given the plays of supposed higher beings much thought before. And for the first time, she'd realized that she, the Chosen One, had rarely been in contact with The Powers themselves. Apparently, they had never chosen her.

And so for now, Buffy had to settle with the fact that they weren't much closer to getting the knife back or finding their friends. Her stomach clenched at the thought. She'd been so willing to tag along with Angel's notion that Vi was still alive. That she and Illyria both were. That no one was dead until there was a corpse, because in this crazy world, in which people could return from hell or got pulled out of heaven, there was always still a chance. The more time passed, though, the harder it got to hold on to that hope. It was as wavering and slippery as everything around her. The leads they'd compiled. The truce she'd struck up with Angel, the silent agreement to put their differences aside for the greater good. The mission was more important than them. 

They hadn't talked things over. Not really. After they'd parted with Whistler, they'd gotten stuck in a tiresome tug-of-war, a back and forth of who would visit the Lady in the Lake and who would stay in LA until they'd called it a tie and decided to both go. It would take a day at the most, and they each felt responsible for what had happened in the caves. They each had to save a friend. If she was honest with herself, though, duty wasn't all of it. There was a small nagging voice whispering ugly words of doubt in Buffy's ear. About how Angel might not act in her best interest anymore. How he might not make the right calls. Not for Vi nor LA nor that stupid dagger. Buffy hated the voice and the bitterness it left her with. The only thing she hated, even more, was the certainty that Angel harbored similar feelings about her. 

Buffy peeked up from her bag and over to Angel again. He still hadn't moved. His face was impossible to read.

"So, did you let anyone know where we're headed?" Buffy asked, breaking the silence that covered them like a plastic tarp. It was suffocating her, and she desperately wanted to rip it off.

Angel shook his head. "They don't need me," he answered absentmindedly.

Somehow Buffy doubted that, but she said nothing. She wasn't tagging along as Angel's personal cheer squad. "I told Rowena that we'd be following a lead, but that I should be back tomorrow night. She's gonna hold down the fort."

Angel stayed silent. 

"I didn't even know you had a driver's license," Buffy tried once again. She had never thought about vampires and ID's until Angel magically produced a Cali state license at the security counter of the airport. "Of course I know you can drive a car. It's just, what would they even put onto your ID? Angel, DOB seventeen-hundred-something?" As soon as she'd said it out loud, Buffy inwardly cringed. Long awkward silences always brought out the worst rambling in her. And so did Angel. And as chance would have it, the two often came together.

Angel stared at her as if she'd asked him about his favorite EDM track, then pulled a wallet out of his inner coat pocket and handed her the ID.

Buffy carefully took her card, bent it, and snipped at it with her index finger. "Is that real? It's really well made. The picture is great! Doesn't even look like a mug shot." The rambling continued, but at least Angel had stopped with the people watching. 

"It's a real fake. I got a whole package through Wolfram & Hart. Fake birth certificate. Fake passport. Fake social security number. They did have a lot of connections in the right places."

Buffy inspected the ID again, ran her fingers along the edges of the plastic card, as if it was going to reveal more about Angel to her. But all it offered was a fake name, an address in central LA, and a birthday in 1978. A strange thought came over her. "But you're not really 29?" she asked.

Angel's eyebrows pulled up in an unnaturally high arch. "No, I'm 251. I know I look young for my age..."

Buffy's face got hot. "I meant..." Why had she asked that? The most innocent questions always got awkward with Angel. What's your favorite food? How's your family? Where are you going on your next vacation? Okay, maybe all those questions weren't so innocent if you were a vampire. There were good reasons why they'd rarely talked about his past when they were together. The light grey speckle pattern of the airport floor suddenly became very interesting to her. 

"I know what you mean." Angel's face clouded over for a moment, and he wrung his hands in his lap, but then that moment passed. "How old do I look?" He gave her a lopsided smile. 

If possible, Buffy's face got even hotter. "I don't know. Anything between 23 and 35?"

Angel's smile turned into an appalled grimace. "35? You're terrible at this," he said in mock-shock.

"Haha!" Buffy handed the ID back. "I've really known you for too long to say. In the beginning, I thought you were in college, but then...you know what, just forget it."

"Twenty-six." Angel took an unnecessary breath, as if he was hesitant to admit something deep and dark about himself. "I was born in May 1727." He looked out the window and at the plane that just pulled in. "And I got turned sometime in the summer of '53, but those days are blurry."

"Is that a vampire thing?"

Angel let out a small, bitter chuckle. "No, that's an alcohol thing." 

Buffy studied Angel, trying to come up with a reply. She looked at familiar lines of his face. The haircut that had remained almost the same over the years. For the first time ever, she felt slightly unsettled by his appearance and the everlastingness of a vampire's beauty and youth. When she got back together with her friends after they'd been apart for a while, they'd always changed a little bit. Giles had gotten more grey after he'd gone back to England. Willow had a different gait when she returned from her year of travels abroad. Dawnie's face had become more angled when she came home from college for summer break. Angel hadn't just stayed the same. It wasn't merely that he didn't age. To her, he'd grown younger as time had passed. And then it hit her. 

"I'm older than you now?" she asked. 

The realization stunned her more than she'd expected. Her palms got clammy. Of course, on a rational level, she'd always known that this day would come. That one day, they'd pass that threshold that separated a finite existence from an immortal life. She had just always envisioned it to be a day far off in the future. There was still time. There was always still time. Until there was not.

It was Angel's turn to look at the ground. "If you want to think of it that way." 

Through the crackling of a loudspeaker, a female voice announced that flight 2507 was ready for boarding. 

Buffy turned her head to the annunciator panel and studied the destinations and times without actually reading them. Feelings churned inside her like water in a whirlpool, none of which she wanted to inspect right now. She pushed her emotions back down to where they had come from, grabbed her bag, and got up. "This is us. Time to go to Seattle and wrap this up.

  
  



	14. Coming To The King's House

_Somewhere in King County, Washington State, May 31st, 2007_

  
  


Angel steered the white Range Rover down the narrow serpentine path. 

The Washington backroads were quiet and gloomy. The branches of fir trees hung heavy above, obstructing the light of the moon and the stars. In contrast to nature's moody elegance, the car was ostentatious and ugly. The Range Rover, however, had been the only vehicle with all-tinted windows at Hertz, and as Angel wasn't keen on turning into a small heap of ash at the first touch of sunlight, he'd decided to suck it up. 

They planned to return to LA the next day, but if Angel was honest with himself, he had no idea how long the visit to Washington would take. A map from Sea-Tac airport, a confused GPS, and Whistler's directions had all turned out to be of limited help, and they'd meandered through the country roads for hours without getting to their destination. If he didn't know better, Angel would have said the Lake House didn't want to be found.

They reached a crossroads in the middle of nowhere, when the GPS suddenly stopped giving directions and happily announced that they'd arrived at their destination. Angel made sure there was no one else on the road, switched on the warning lights, and put the car in neutral.

"Left or right?" he asked.

Buffy turned on the lights above the passenger seat, and rummaged in her bag for a rumpled diner napkin. She had copied Whistler's directions on the thin white fabric. "This is it," Buffy said, "We're here." She opened the car door, stepped outside, and walked up and down the road. She looked at the pavement, then at the sky. Buffy wrinkled her nose, and Angel could almost hear her muttering under her breath. Chastising the road and the directions for how unhelpful they were and how they should be ashamed of themselves for their complete and utter lackage.

He caught the corner of his mouth before it rose too high, unbuckled his seatbelt, and followed her outside. "Buff --"

"Shh." She hushed him. "Do you feel that?"

He closed his eyes. A light breeze grazed over his skin, the trees rustled, an owl hooted in the distance. It was only the night, but underneath the forest sounds and smells, an invisible hand reached for him. He turned to the trees and strained to make something out in the dark, but couldn't see anything beyond the first row of conifers. A loneliness rose from the damp ground, from the needles and the humus, from the rotting wood that was slowly falling apart. The wet grass. The dewdrops in the air. A sudden gust of hollowness stretched out in Angel's chest that made him want to get back in the car and drive off. 

Buffy studied his reactions, then followed his gaze towards the shadows. "Two roads diverged in the woods," she whispered. "We took neither." Then she walked straight into the darkness and disappeared. 

Angel hissed at the suddenness of her vanishing act, but before he could call after her to come back, Buffy reappeared from the black, her blonde hair and bright clothes in luminous contrast to the surroundings. A signal fire in the dark. 

"This is it," she said. "There are no trees. Let's go!"

They got back in the car, revved up the engine, and the glamour parted for them like the softest mist. Although Angel's mind expected them to hit a tree trunk, they drove on and through the illusion without so much as a bump. After a few yards, the mirage vanished entirely, and all that remained was a narrow road that wove through the trees.

When they came to a fence with a metal gate, Buffy got out and checked the lock. "It's open. We continue?" 

Coyotes howled in the distance.

Angel nodded, and she moved the heavy grate to the side, waited until he had passed, and then closed it up again. 

Behind the gate, the road got steeper, the turns got tighter, and the gravel and dirt crunched and churned under the tires of the car. A soggy wall of fog had gathered around them, and Angel decreased the speed. The Range Rover slowly crept down the pathway. When the milky blanket suddenly lifted, they took a last turn on the narrow road and exited onto a wide cobblestone driveway. 

Angel stopped the car.

Right in front of them loomed a grey, wooden manor. It was four stories tall, and white balconies and walkways circumvented every floor of the building. A gazebo rested like a crown in the middle of a roof terrace. Most of the countless windows were not illuminated anymore, but the ground floor still shimmered in a warm fuzzy light.

Buffy and Angel left the car behind and walked down a well-kept path with finely trimmed boxwood hedges on each side. A loading van was parked right in front of the house. The tailboard hung open, and its insides were loaded with boxes, but the driver was nowhere to be seen.

Buffy took the stairs of the front porch two steps at a time.

Angel followed right behind her. A strange sensation, prickling with the energy of a low electric current, washed through his body as his foot touched the planks. A soft sigh escaped from in between the boards. Angel felt watched. He spun around, checking the direction they had come from. The Range Rover still stood where he parked it. No one else was in the driveway.

Buffy raised up her hand, hesitated a moment, and then rang the doorbell. A low chime echoed through the building.

Nothing happened. 

Buffy rang again.

Voices picked up on the inside, something clattered. Slick steps squished closer. A groan. Someone muttered under their breath, stepped up to the door and pulled it open with a creak.

"Are you the musicians?" a croaky voice asked them. A sleek green head appeared between the door and its frame. The door opened further. In the dim lamplight stood a child-sized frog, dressed in black pants and a maroon velvet jacket. He studied them suspiciously, the nictitating membrane quickly flicking over its giant eyeballs. "Mimes?" 

Angel had seen a lot of strange demons in his time, but this creature left even him speechless.

Buffy regained her composure more quickly. "We are here to see the Lady in the Lake," she said.

"So is everyone this week," the frog-man replied with a nasal sigh. From the tone of his voice, it was clear he had somewhere else to be and more important things to do.

Angel took a step forward. "Whistler sent us. We have a question,..." when the frog didn't react, he added, "...that could affect the fate of the world."

The creature croaked with obvious displeasure. "Whistler? Don't tell me there's another End of Days. I've planned the celebration in honor of the Tides for a year. A year! Everyone's coming. The water spirits from the Great Lakes, Father Rhine and the Lorelei, even the mermen from the Solomon Islands." He let the arm that held the door sag and allowed them a peek into the house. Dozens of people and demons were rushing through the halls, carrying boxes, lanterns, and chairs. The frog dropped his face into his palms and then stepped aside. 

Buffy shrugged apologetically, as if she understood the gravity of the inconvenience they were causing. Angel was pretty sure that like him, she had no idea what the frog was talking about.

"Alright. Come in. Sit down. Don't get in the way. I'll find someone who can help you out." The frog shushed Buffy and Angel through the door and pointed to a group of armchairs. "Who should I announce to the Lady?"

"Angel and Buffy?" Buffy asked.

"That's a bit uncouth." The frog pinched his forehead with two fingers. "How about Angel, former Scourge of Europe and former CEO of Wolfram & Hart. Champion of the Powers That Be. And Buffy Anne Summers. Chosen One. Leader of all Slayers and reigning victor of four apocalypses?" 

"That works, too?" 

"Great."

"You've heard of us?" Angel asked. 

If possible, the frog's eyes bulged out even more. "I wouldn't be very good at my job; otherwise, would I?" With that, he waddled off across the room and disappeared behind a corner.

Buffy and Angel slumped down in the chairs that they'd been assigned.

"I've gotten kind of famous these last years." Buffy couldn’t suppress a mischievous smile, but it vanished quickly as her attention got captured by the commotion around them. 

Preparations inside the manor continued, without any consideration for their appearance. No one paid them any mind, everyone hurried on with their tasks. All over the foyer crates were stacked up several feet high. Helpers came and went, brought in new boxes, or picked them up and carried them away. While many of the staff looked ordinary enough, others did not resemble any being Angel had ever seen. More frogs in velvet jackets hopped back and forth between the workers, giving them directions. Creatures with scaly blue skin glided on the hardwood floors, holding crates aloft with their fins, and at the end of a long hallway, three men with antlers and aprons carried large silver trays with hoods from one room to another. Among these beings, even a vampire with a soul and a Slayer, didn't stand out.

While they waited, Angel tried to take in more of their surroundings to determine who exactly they were dealing with. The furnishings of the manor were expensive, but not flashy. Most of the foyer was kept in minimalistic whites. A few signature pieces, however, stood out: the bust of a man that had broken and been pieced back together, two small olive trees in planters at the foot of a broad stairwell, and a sculpture that looked eerily similar to the statue of Laocoön and His Sons. The floorboards were old, but well kept and reminded Angel of a ship he had sailed on sometime in the 1800s.

On their left, the entry hall crossed over into a large dining area that was surrounded by floor to ceiling windows. Small flickering lights lit the patio on the other side, and beyond the gardens, Angel could make out the blurred outline of the lake and the houses on the opposite shore.

"Good evening," a warm voice resounded through the foyer. 

Angel and Buffy almost jumped at the sudden sound.

A tall woman had appeared at the very top of the staircase. She was dressed in a white and gold caftan. Hair put up, her golden earrings dangled close to her shoulders and reflected the light from the chandelier above. She leaned against the balustrade with surprising calmness - unperturbed by the strangers who'd come to the house in the middle of the night. Then she glided down the stairs, taking each step with care. "Buffy and Angel," the woman said, tilting her head to one side like a bird. "To what do we owe this late visit?"

As she came closer, Angel studied her features. The woman was neither old nor young, she looked strangely familiar, but Angel was confident that they'd never met. Her slow, languid movements and gestures were comforting and unsettling at the same time. Her arms and legs and neck were just a tad too long for her body and gave her a graceful, yet otherworldly air. If someone had asked Angel to describe her in one word, 'mirage' would have been the first thing to come to his mind. 

"You know us, too?" Buffy asked.

"There are only so many apocalypses happening at a time. And when the same names are murmured in connection to them again and again, people do start to notice." The woman smiled and clasped her hands together as if she had finished a sermon, then she gestured to them to follow her.

Together they stepped around the same corner the frog had disappeared behind. From here, a spacious corridor led the way to several rooms on both of its sides. They passed an open archway with a dimly lit room behind it. The floor of the room was empty except for a weaving loom with a stool and a stone bench. The walls, in contrast, were fully covered by a giant tapestry.

Angel stopped transfixed, staring at the intricate work. Instead of depicting people or animals, the tapestry consisted of a complicated pattern of delicate threads. They glimmered in a multitude of colors, and Angel could have sworn they were changing while he stood there - altering directions and forming new knots. "What...?" he mumbled more to himself than anyone in particular.

"It's a project the Lady has been working on," the woman answered without hesitation. "She's capturing time as she recalls it and the connections between all its threads."

"You are not the Lady?" Buffy asked.

"Oh, no, my dear. I only assist her." 

At the end of the hallway, the woman opened a door, and they entered a study. The furniture and the floorboards in this room were also glazed in a soft white, but rows of colorful books lined the walls. A small wooden staircase led to a balcony that circumvented the space and held more shelves with old tomes. There was a couch and two armchairs upholstered in white, a large empty desk, and all kinds of artifacts and trinkets on the shelves and on the window sills. Glowing orbs, a demon skull, the skeleton of a large predatory fish, a globe with landmasses that didn't resemble any continent Angel knew. On one of the walls hung a painting by Waterhouse. Angel stepped closer to get a better look. 

"It's my favorite part of the story," the woman said, when she noticed his interest, "how Penelope bested all threads to Ithaca while Odysseus was gone. She's a woman of remarkable willpower and endurance."

Behind them, a frog in a blue-colored jacket entered the room. The frog put a tray with a pitcher full of aloe vera lemonade and crystalware down onto the coffee table, then excited with a small bow and closed the door from the outside.

The woman turned away from the painting and sat down in one of the armchairs. 

Buffy and Angel moved over to the couch. 

"So what brings you here? Phyl tells me you said Whistler sent you." 

Angel and Buffy exchanged a quick glance. "You know Whistler well?" Angel asked.

The woman chuckled. "As well as anyone can. We are of one kin, although not of a kind. You can call me Egret, by the way." 

"But that is not your name...?"

"My real name isn't made of sounds a human can easily pronounce." She picked up the pitcher and poured them each a glass of the drink. Then she waited for them to continue.

"We came here…" Buffy began, then started over. "We're looking for an ancient being and its weapons. Whistler said he didn't know details, but that the Lady in the Lake might be able to help us out. Have you ever heard of a demon named Atakan?"

Egret's eyes narrowed. Then they became glassy and vacant, as if she wasn't entirely with them anymore, but had gone to a different place, somewhere long past and deep inside. "I was not in existence in Atakan's time, but I've heard of him from those who were. Atakan was not a demon, though." Egret focused on Buffy. "Not more than you are anyway." 

Angel's skin prickled. He didn't like that particular assessment.

Egret took a sip from her lemonade and slowly turned the glass in her hand, watching the liquid gently slosh from side to side. "Atakan was a hero chosen by the Powers That Be. He fought on their side during a series of battles we call ‘The Banishment’. It’s where all those myths of a Judgement Day or a Ragnarök stem from. But what has that to do with you?" 

"Someone robbed his grave. They took his knife," Buffy answered. "And we kinda helped. Not on purpose, though."

A subtle flinch crossed the woman's features, but she collected herself momentarily. "Is that so? Well, that's unfortunate, but no cause for concern just yet. I'm sure whoever they are, they don't know how to use this weapon. Though it would seem sensible to retrieve it?" 

"Sebatia took it. And they also have the mace. There are three weapons, right?" Angel asked.

Egret perked up, slowly churning the lemonade in her hand. They had her attention now. “Yes…” she said haltingly, “there was more than one hero and they each had a weapon.”

"We know we have to get the weapons back, but before we can do that, we need to know more about what they can do and where they came from. We heard there's also a javelin."

"The Serpent's Tooth? Why would you need that?” Her voice was slowly losing its mellow touch. “It was created to find gates between dimensions and to lead the bearer on a safe path through them. No one would be so callous to use the knife and slice into the fabric of this world without having the proper means to undo that." Egret stirred her lemonade with more vigor now.

"Well, they did. The Sebatia, who took the knife, first cut himself in two with it," Angel said, the words sounding weird in his mouth, "and then he opened a passage to another world."

"And that's when the real freaky started happening. Something crawled out of that cut. A giant worm, with sticky legs," Buffy added, mimicking the spindly class of the worm-monster with her hands.

Egret put her glass down with a thud. Lemonade spilled over the rim and hit the coaster and the table underneath. "The world really was much simpler, when demons were not that stupid," she groaned.

Before Buffy and Angel could get more worried or ask any more questions, Egret stood up, left the room, and returned with another frog in a blue jacket. She would try to help them find answers, she promised, just not tonight. She, too, had to gather more information first.

* * *

Buffy and Angel followed the frog up a staircase and down another long corridor. Two long corridors. Several long corridors. The hallways wove through the house without finding an end. And although the building had already appeared spacious from the outside, on the inside, it turned out to be vast. 

Egret had offered them to stay the night or however long it took until she had made the right calls. In anticipation of tomorrow's festivities, the house had already been taken over by guests, and two more visitors wouldn't make any difference to the staff. Angel wasn't sure that staying at the Lake House was the best idea, but dawn was near, and the next motel was miles away. Something was unsettling about this place. It felt too much like a home, like it wanted to soothe you, waiting for you to come to rest. Angel had rarely left LA in the last three years, and after all the chaos and the shrillness of the city, the quiet softness of this place was unnerving and strange.

They came to a halt in front of two adjacent doors. The frog pointed at the wooden signs that adorned them. "Sailboat. Seagull. Please do not confuse your rooms. We have extended the guest wing for the celebrations, and some of our visitors are nocturnal or have other special requirements." He gave them a look replete with meaning, expecting that they knew what he meant, and he wouldn't have to spell it out. Then the frog opened the door to the room on the left. 

Buffy took a step inside and gasped. 

Angel peeked into the room behind her.

The guest room was easily 15 feet high and also furnished entirely in white. The rustic oak floorboards were sealed in a light, shiny coat and the floor to ceiling windows allowed a panoramic view over the gardens and the lake. A door, which was inlaid in the glass front, let out to the galleries they'd seen from outside.

"You don't have blackout curtains by any chance?" Angel asked.

"This house adheres to the laws of Xenia," the frog explained. "That also extends to the sunlight. As long as you're inside the building, no harm will come to you." He eyed them up once more to make sure they'd wholly understood. Uncertainty flitted over his features. "Likewise, it is expected that all guests act in accordance. Be courteous to the host, and don't be a threat. Provide news of the outside world. I guess you've already done that. Reciprocate if you're being called upon. If you require any help, well, this is not a hotel, but come and find us." He waited for them to ask another question that didn't come, then gave them a brief nod and left them standing in the hallway. 

Buffy and Angel settled on reconvening in the morning. They exchanged awkward 'good nights', and then each of them went into their own room.

  
  



	15. Walking In Shadows

_Somewhere in Washington State, June 1st, 2007_

  
  


Buffy raised her hand, her fingers curled into a fist. She let it hover over the wood, then lowered her hand again. This shouldn't have been hard. This shouldn't have been hard at all. 

But it was. 

Just the thought of talking to Angel made her pull back, similar to the reflex she felt, when she anticipated a hit. Before they'd headed to Washington, he'd apologized for his outburst at the Slayer house and for tackling her in the cave. She'd accepted both and conceded that she wasn't entirely blameless, and they'd kept a polite, safe distance ever since. 

That was it.

Every now and then, Buffy thought they were easing their defensive stance, that they were taking steps towards each other. But whenever they moved a step closer together, Angel took two steps back. 

Small talk at the airport had been followed by silence on the plane and even more silence on the car ride after. A vast static nothingness had spread out between them, that was only interrupted by questions about directions, a Twilight joke that Angel didn't get and the brief, non-bonding realization that neither of them had ever been to the Pacific Northwest before.

Angel wasn't rude. He was utterly professional. But for some reason, that was worse than fighting or yelling or actually getting punched. He treated her like a co-worker on a business trip. Which, in a way, she was. Buffy didn't even know what she'd expected from an ex she hadn't seen in four years and had barely talked to in eight. More groveling? More hurt? More excitement?

The last time they'd met, they'd grinned at each other like idiots. They'd kissed. Angel had been ready to run into the open fray at her side. But amulets and graveyard talks had happened a lifetime ago, and considering how her current visit to the US was panning out, she wasn't sure that what she remembered was even the truth. She'd been so exhausted right before the battle with the Turok-Han. Maybe it had all happened in her mind. His appearance had been nothing more than a professional courtesy call and she'd misunderstood all of his intentions.

 _"So you're gonna be with me in this?"  
_ _"Shoulder to shoulder. I'm yours."_

Whatever was then, shoulder to shoulder had clearly long since passed. 

Before her thoughts went any further, Buffy raised her hand and knocked on Angel's door.

Nothing.

She knew this wasn't Angel's usual time to get up, but she'd figured he would adjust his schedule to their trip. She knocked again with more force.

This knock, too, was answered by silence.

They'd agreed to meet first thing in the morning, but maybe Angel hadn't bothered to wait. Buffy at least had no interest in wandering through the mansion by herself. The frog-people were testy, the size of the rooms was too outlandish, and the hallways curled through the building like the insides of a beast, too vast, as if they wanted to swallow her up. Every now and then, the floorboards purred, and the walls suspired, and if she didn't know that it was the wind rattling on the shutters, she would have said it was breath that was drawing through the halls. 

Buffy knocked again. "Angel? You up?" she called.

Still no answer.

Buffy felt the flutter of discomfort rise. What if the Xena magic hadn't worked as well as the frog had promised? "Angel? Are you alright? If you're not coming out, I'm coming in." She gave him another chance to react, then slowly pushed the handle down and opened the door to peek inside. 

She couldn't see the entirety of the room from where she stood, but at first glance, it all seemed inconspicuous enough.

The sheets on the bed were crinkled, but at least they weren't covered in ash.

Buffy took a step forward, turned, searching for any sign of Angel, and then stopped dead in her tracks. 

The curtains were drawn open, clearing the view of the lush panorama outside. The morning sun broke in the glass panes of the windows and illuminated the walls and furniture in tiny shards of bright white. Rays of rainbow-colored bands cut through the floorboards.

The whole front of the room was flooded in light.

And Angel stood in the middle of it, facing the windows, unmoving, surrounded by a halo of sunshine.

A sharp fright cut through Buffy, and then when she realized that Angel wasn't on fire, fear yielded to another sensation. The memory of a dream, she didn't dare to have. For a moment, she thought her knees would give out. "Angel?" she asked again. This time more timid.

Angel didn't react. Rigid and silent like a statue, he was still staring outside. A towel hung limp and forgotten from his left hand, and onto the ground. His hair was dripping wet. The sun reflected in the drops of water in his hair and in the drops of water that had run over his shoulders and down his back. The light shimmered on his skin bright white, glistening, the color of clouds. His dark boxers a stark contrast to the rest of his body.

He was leaner than she remembered. Or maybe his muscles were just pulled taut. Anxious. As if he was ready to run and prepared to fight, even though there was no conceivable danger around. His back was covered in a criss-cross of red streaks and old cuts. They must have been deep, if they hadn't completely healed so far. 

Buffy's chest constricted.

Angel was someplace else. Transfixed by the world as if he'd never seen the sky or a lake before. Then he turned his attention from the deep water and the impervious forests to his hand and the soft glow that was hitting his palm. Angel curled his fingers up one by one, as if he could take hold of the sunlight if he tried, if he just wanted it badly enough. But the rays melted through his fingers and out of his grasp.

"It's really warm," Angel said. "The sunlight is really warm." And with a quiet, mesmerized voice, he added, "Sometimes I forget."

And whatever had felt tight in Buffy's chest before, pulled closer, almost breaking her ribs from inside. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to run out of the room or run over to him and hug him and promise that everything was going to be alright. Whatever monsters or demons threatened them, she was going to hunt them, and she would find them, and she would kill them all. 

Instead, she slowly stepped up next to Angel and followed his gaze. The sunlight was sailing across the lazy waves of the lake on a hundred shades of cool blue hues. The conifers in the surrounding woods swayed from side to side as a light breeze caressed their tops. A flock of birds crossed the brilliant sky in the distance. 

She stretched her hand out, touched the window, and felt the warmth spread from the glass to her palm. "It's really beautiful," she whispered. 

"It is." Angel turned to her, his expression captivated and confused, as if a part of him couldn't quite believe that she was here and that they existed in the same universe together. 

Droplets of water fell from Angel's hair onto his shoulders.

Buffy's heartbeat quickened.

Her mouth went dry.

She took a sharp, short breath.

Angel let out a sigh and streaked his fingers through the wet strands. "I should get dressed," he said. His gaze rested on her face for another second. Then he walked over to a chair with a stack of neatly folded clothes and picked up the shirt that lay on top.

* * *

Buffy and Angel walked down the hallways, trying to find their way back to the entrance hall, but whenever Buffy thought they'd reached the right turn, they stepped into another corridor that looked exactly like the one they'd just come from. Since they'd left Angel's room, they'd fallen back into their taciturn routine. For Buffy it was just as well. The last things she wanted to talk about were Angel in daylight or what rays of sunshine felt like.

They'd just passed their rooms for a second time, when they crossed paths with an older gentleman.

"Are you looking for the breakfast room?" he asked, seemingly aware of the desperate looks on their faces. "You can follow me if you like. These hallways keep meandering off. It can be confusing if you don't know your way around." 

As they trotted after the man, Buffy felt relief and the slight surge of annoyance at the same time. They should have paid better attention the night before. Walking in here, without knowing the way out was reckless on their part. The man on the other hand was perfectly at ease, whistling a chipper tune as he sauntered down the corridors. Buffy took note of the custom-tailored cut of his dark green suit. The red satin handkerchief in his breast pocket. The shine of his Italian leather shoes. The year in Rome had taught her to pay more attention to the clothes people wore. If their attire had been chosen to impress or to hide in, if outfits were distractions or shields. This man must have come from old money. He wore the expensive green ensemble like a second skin.

"You've never been to the house, have you? Did you come here, especially for the party?" the man asked.

"No, we're here for business," Buffy replied.

He stroked his beard solemnly. "Aren't we all?"

Buffy gave him a placatory smile, wishing they were out of the hallway maze already.

"Well, if you have the time, you should join the party tonight," the man continued, unaware of Buffy's restlessness. "There is going to be a naiad fountain. And if you haven't seen one...Well, I dare say, there's nothing like it in this world."

Then the hallway finally widened and the blue carpeting switched back to the rustic floorboards of the entrance hall. The man pushed two large double doors open and held onto one of them waiting for Buffy and Angel follow. 

The three of them stepped into spacious room with walls and a vaulted ceiling constructed out of glass. The sun illuminated the whole space, the furniture, the floors, and the planters with cypresses had been placed in its centre. Tables were packed with humans and other creatures, some of whom looked like average demons and spirits to Buffy and other species who were unfamiliar to her. What they all had in common, though, was the fact that they seemed much more good-natured than the types she usually dealt with. There was no growling or gnashing of teeth. Instead, the chipper staccato of conversation and laughter filled the room. The mood in the winter garden was carefree and relaxed, reminiscent of a large family gathering. A long line had formed at a buffet and antler-men in white shirts, and black aprons zigzagged between the guests with platters full of food and kitchenware. A frog with a tray of baked goods toddled past them.

"Oh, croissants!" Buffy exclaimed and grabbed a piece. She hadn't noticed she was starving until she smelled the buttery sweet scent that wafted through the air. "Might as well..." she added, bit into the steaming crescent, and got in line for more breakfast foods.

Buffy had just settled down with her jam-packed plate, when Angel sat down across from her with a mug. She peeked at the red steaming liquid and nodded appreciatively. "I didn't know if you wanted coffee, but I see you got breakfast. They really carry more than the standard continental." She picked up pieces of egg and tomato with her fork and stuffed them in her mouth. "The omelet is great. How's your blood?" 

Angel took a sip, obviously content with the flavor. "Pretty exotic. Apparently, it's a South-American morning blend. Llama and Capybara. Bright yet tangy." 

Buffy stabbed at her omelet again. "So, what's our plan? We try to find Egret, finally get some answers, wait 'til night and haul ass out of here?"

"I think that's about it. Speaking of the devil…," Angel said and waved at Egret, who had just entered the winter garden.

The woman nodded in recognition and sashayed over to their table. She was dressed in another caftan this morning, this one white with light blue needlework. A matching headband held her auburn hair in place.

"I see you've made it to our little breakfast nook." She clasped her hands together like an over-enthusiastic museum-guide. "I talked to the Lady. She is happy to see you once the tide comes in." Egret pulled a third chair over to their table. "Before you go down to see her, though, we should talk about the procedures of visiting the Lady. The Waters don't adhere to a steady flow, and it's crucial you get your answers quickly. Wouldn't you agree?" She leaned over the table and closer towards them.

Buffy put her fork down and swallowed the last piece of egg. Next to her, Angel shifted in his seat. Something was unsettling about the woman. She didn't appear dangerous per se, but there was an aloofness surrounding her that Buffy couldn't quite grasp. Like Whistler, she was with them, and somewhere else entirely, and she definitely knew more than she would ever let on.

"When you visit the Lady, you can ask any questions you like, but she will reply as she seems fit. Don't haggle, don't push. The important thing to remember is that the answers concerning our futures, have often already been answered in our past," Egret said.

Buffy inhaled, trying to stifle a groan. Why couldn't these messenger-people ever offer clear advice? Where they came from being cryptic must have been an Olympic discipline of sorts.

"When you go down to see her, the Lady will give you a piece of time, and you will leave a gift in kind with her," Egret continued.

"What like a Rolex?" Buffy asked.

"No, more like a week or a month. Usually not a year. That's a bit outlandish." Egret waved her hand theatrically to underline the absurdity of such a steep price.

Angel leaned backward, removing himself from the closeness Egret had created. "She wants us to work for her?" 

"No. You give her time from your life. Whatever she asks for from Buffy is going to be subtracted from the time Buffy has been allotted."

"Wait. What? Why her? Why can't I...?" Angel asked aghast and slapped one hand down on the tabletop. For a second Buffy thought he would jump up and out of his chair, but he quickly settled down again.

Egret gently placed her hand on Angel's. "Because a man of infinite wealth cannot part with anything of value."

* * *

It was almost noon, when Egret led Buffy and Angel down the winding staircase to the basement. The hallways were ascetic, but as on the upper levels, they wound their way almost naturally through the building. The floors of the basement were covered in slate, the walls were blank except for lamps that lit the corridors at every other corner. 

When they reached a door engraved with ornamental patterns, Egret halted. "Remember what I told you about talking to the Waters. Above all, don't haggle. You can find me later if you have questions and I'll try to help you make sense of everything."

"You're not coming?" Buffy asked.

"What they show you is not for me to see." 

Angel carefully opened the door, and they stepped inside. The walls and the ceiling of the room, resembled those of a typical house. The floor, however, was nothing ordinary. From polished slate, it had changed into rugged rock formations. At least half of the space was taken up by a natural pond, its water gently sloshing against the stony bank. The Lake House had been built on top of a spring, without disturbing the well's natural state.

"We don't have to do this," said Angel suddenly.

They'd gone over their options for an hour before they decided to come down here, but the agreement they'd reached was apparently not as mutual as Buffy had thought.

"Angel --"

"There has to be another way."

"Angel --"

"Someone else will have an answer."

"Angel it's --"

"... it's an IOU with the devil." Angel started pacing again. He'd almost run a hollow into the wood floor upstairs until Buffy had threatened to knock him out, if he didn't stop.

"I was gonna say, not such a big deal, but --"

"Have you made a deal with a devil before? There are three rules when it comes to this." He counted them on the fingers of his left hand. "Don't sign with blood. Don't pass everything through customs. Never pay with firstborns...or lifetime."

"Why do I have the feeling you just made that up?" Buffy tried her best conciliatory smile, but it was clear she was not getting through. "Either way, it won't matter much in the end," she added.

"Buffy, you only have 40 years left. You don't know how quickly that passes you by." Angel's face looked actually pained now. Like 40 years was not forever, but the time it took to sneeze or blink an eye.

"Wait! What? 40?" Buffy grimaced. "I know, the life of a Slayer and all, but at this point, I was hoping for a bit more than that."

"Okay, 60. Hopefully 70, but that's still over in...it's over too fast." He let his arms drop and hung his head, seemingly overcome with the futility of explaining the measure of a lifetime to someone who thought that 60 years was an eternity. 

Buffy understood exactly what Angel was talking about, even if she didn't let it on. Forty years was a lot more life than she dared to hope for even on her most optimistic days. Admitting that to Angel, however, would only aggravate him more. He'd always wanted her to have it all. House in the burbs, white picket fence, a loving husband, to hang out with in the sunshine. What the world needed, though, was for her to be pragmatic. "Angel, I appreciate your concern, I do, but I could also get run over by a bus next week, and then all those worries will be pointless. I say we make the most of it while we can, find out how to get the weapons and ensure earth doesn't go to hell."

"You shouldn't have to pay such a price."

"But I will," Buffy said. "And I know it bothers you, but it's not your choice to make." She reached out and gently touched his upper arm, then pulled her hand back again when she realized how strange the contact felt.

Angel hadn't even noticed. Too occupied with his inner struggle, he curled his fist up one more time, looked at Buffy with a stern expression, before resignation crept over his face. Buffy wasn't sure whether to be moved or angered by his insistence that she shouldn't do this. Angel wouldn't have hesitated a second had the roles been reversed. Before he could come up with another argument for his case, Buffy nudged him over towards the pool.

For the first two or three yards, the pond was only a foot deep, then the bedrock abruptly dropped. How far down was impossible to tell. The clear grey-blue water became pitch black beyond the escarpment. It could have been a few feet down or an endless drop.

Buffy and Angel pulled their sleeves up over their elbows, as Egret had told them to do, and put their arms down into the water, resting their hands on the shallow ground. The surface rippled under their touch, the water was cool on the brink of discomfort.

Buffy shivered. 

Then a shadow rose from the depths and slipped around their arms, never touching them, gliding right underneath the shallow waves. The water turned darker. More shadows swam up from the deep and floated towards them, like frail jellyfish made out of ink. The shadows converged and broke apart. Buffy thought she recognized the shapes of islands, of fish and birds, horses and boats, a scythe and a sword, the body of a drowned person.

An ethereal voice rose from the deep, soft and playful like a summer breeze beside the sea. "I have been waiting for your visit. What do you seek?"

Buffy wanted to pull her hands back, but then dug her fingers deeper into the rock. Holding on until they hurt. "Knowledge," she answered. "Information about the Primordium Age. We need to know what happened to Atakan. We need to know what happened to him and the other heroes of the Powers That Be. We need to know what happened to their weapons." They had talked for quite a bit about how she would phrase their request.

The voice started to hum. "It's time you seek? Time is not free."

Buffy took a deep breath. "I know," she said. "I will pay what it costs."

"I see," the voice continued their singsong. "You've always been strong. Don't underestimate being weak. A champion isn't defined by their willingness to sacrifice, but by the times they're unwilling to recede."

Before Buffy could reply anything, the shadows in the pond started moving again. They circled and created little eddies. In the middle of the whirlpools, specks of light began to glimmer. The face and body of a young woman appeared right underneath the surface, her skin was white as milk, her dress the same color, her dark hair floated around her like a halo of black light. Her face broke through the surface, and the water ran down her cheeks in small rivulets. Then she went under again and disappeared. The shadows returned, now taking on different shapes. Men and animals in a jungle. Demons in caves. A desert.

"Look closer," the voice whispered. "Watch me. Listen to me."

Buffy concentrated on the spinning imagery, tried to make out more explicit shapes and details. 

"They say I'm like the river. My story churns and bends. Sprung from a spring a shiver, I flow as flow commands," the voice sang.

The shallow waves became grainy. Buffy moved her face closer to the surface until she almost touched the water. Tiny droplets sputtered against her cheeks.

And then she saw it.

  
  



	16. Into The Water

A deep darkness surrounded Buffy. Her knees did not touch the ground anymore. Her hands were not submerged in water. A single light flickered in the nothingness. She squinted her eyes to discern where it came from, but it didn't turn any brighter. Ever so slowly silhouettes and outlines solidified around her. And then a room.

It was a dark space. Not as void as the nothingness before, but dark nonetheless. The backrest of a leather couch shimmered in the streaks of light that streamed in through the windows. A glass door to a roof terrace gaped wide open, and figures with horns and wings moved outside.

Angel appeared next to Buffy, but when he opened his mouth to say something, no words came up. Buffy pointed at the glass door, and together, they snuck towards the opening, carefully circumventing the dozens of colored tokens that lay scattered on the marble floor. 

Buffy held her breath. 

She rested one hand on the broad window pane, but her fingers went right through the sleek surface. She took another step forward and exited the glass on the other side.

Right in front of her lay a terrace with more square footage than their house on Ravello Drive. An infinity pool curved parallel to the slope of the hillside, the water like a soft blanket in the windless night. Beyond the terrace LA sprawled out beneath them.

Hassian stood about 20 yards away from Buffy, dressed in the same black get-up as in the cave and toying with the knife. A human-sized creature hunkered on a metal balustrade in front of him. It bopped its upper body back and forth and made dull clacking sounds. It let out a horrifying screech, then the creature spread its broad wings with and took off. A feather the size of a violin bow sailed down to the ground.

"Are they going to help?" a voice right next to Buffy asked. She jerked around, terrified someone had seen them, but the speaker rose from his lounge chair unperturbed. The Sebatia walked passed Buffy and Angel, without taking note of their existence. His one eye was covered with gauze bandages he’d wrapped around his head. The mace dangled on his belt. "The sisters, will they join us?" he asked again.

At the edge of the terrace, Hassian eased his wide-legged stance. "Everyone wants to be on the good side of the Old Ones, and I made a compelling case," he said. "They're old ladies. They remember the time of Arsgomor and Malokar. They will help with our search. Make it a little more urgent."

"Did they come from the same place as Baticus?"

Hassian slowly turned, his gaze focused on the weapon in his hands. His fingers ran up and down the flat surface of the blade. Then he pricked each finger with the tip, without drawing blood. "No, Baticus, the sisters, the hound, they all come from different dimensions. I don't really know which ones. I have opened quite a few of them." He looked up at his comrade with a toothy grin that grew wider. Excitement rose in Buffy's chest. The certainty that she would win. Fantasies of killing Angel and every Slayer in LA flashed before her mind‘s eye, and she was almost overtaken by the anticipation of crushing their skulls and smashing their bodies to dust. Buffy retched. Next to her, Angel staggered. His expression as disturbed as Buffy felt.

"But the Senior Partners are still quiet. What if they don't approve?" the burly Sebatia asked.

Hassian's head shot up. He stepped over to his adjutant and put his arm around his shoulder. "Silius, Silius, Silius. Have faith, my friend!" Hassian raised the knife into the sky and traced the outline of the moon with the blade. "We'll get the javelin. They'll have to find it, if they don't want us to turn this world into rags. And now that I have this knife, I also understand more of its true power. It doesn't just open doors to other dimensions. Like the Old Ones, I can make this world anew."

And with these words, the world around Buffy and Angel began to crumble. A tear ripped through the terrace. The mansion groaned and broke apart. LA and all the buildings around them were swallowed by the ground, until nothing remained, but sand and rock formations, dried out brittle grass and knobby trees, withered from wind and heat.

Nightime had turned to day, and the sun burned above them with unyielding intensity.

Angel's arms darted upwards to cover his head, but then he realized he hadn't burst into flames, and he somewhat relaxed.

Buffy scanned the area. "Why do I always end up in the desert on these soul-trips," she muttered under her breath. Then just to make sure what the parameters of this vision were, she lunged forward and punched the trunk of a Joshua tree. Her hand went straight through the bark and emerged on the other side of the plant. 

Angel kept checking his hands and turning them over, obviously not trusting that they were still uncharred.

In the distance, someone or something moved on top of a large boulder. 

Buffy pointed at the shape. "Do you wanna check it out?" she asked.

Angel studied her. Held his hands over his eyes like a visor and then just nodded.

As Buffy and Angel got closer, the contours of the shape were becoming more defined. As far as Buffy could tell, the being was a man. A man whose head was bald, and whose expression was grim. His golden armor glittered in the sun, tiny flames of light dancing over the metal. In his hands, he held a golden mace with sharp blades at the top. He turned the weapon in his hands a few times with a practiced routine. He tapped his foot on the ground and kicked up a small cloud of dust.

At the foot of the boulder stood two more men. One was clad in onyx armor as dark as night. His long hair hung loose, the top layer was pulled together in a bun. A javelin was strapped to his back. The tallest of the three, he leaned casually against the stone and stared blankly at the horizon. 

The third man paced up and down next to the boulder. He stretched and flexed his arms, readjusted the breastplate of his mat white armor. A short blade was attached to his belt. The knife from the cave.

Buffy looked at the last man more closely. His presence was an undeniable draw, he burned with determination. "Atakan. Atakan. Atakan," a voice resounded inside her head. From the first day they'd met and every day since - it had always been him. A shiver of longing quivered through every fiber of Buffy's body. Her head jerked over to Angel. He was staring at Atakan, his face enthralled. 

Then the air above the boulder bristled and waves of electricity discharged. Small bolts of lightning sizzled through the air. And where the corona expanded, a fourth man appeared. "Osprey. Osprey. Osprey," the voice in Buffy's head said. His real name briefly crossed her mind, but it was like a bird's song, so swift and melodious, she would never be able to mimic the sound. 

Osprey spoke to the three men, his voice gentle and calm, delivering well-thought-out explanations.

Atakan nodded in understanding, and so did Buffy and Angel. Everything Osprey said made perfect sense. It always had. Now that the Old Ones had been banished, the men would give their weapons back to the gods. Keeping them was by far too dangerous.

But something was nagging Buffy, the feeling that things weren't quite right, and her gaze inadvertently wandered to the other man atop the boulder. "Esumesa. Esumesa. Esumesa." He'd fought at her side for as long as she could remember. He was her friend and a friend of all mankind.

But Esumesa turned away from Osprey. At first, it was just a subtle shift of the head, then he clenched his fists. He shook his head 'no.' 

And suddenly, Buffy understood. Esumesa had a different plan. Esumesa wanted to protect his people. Protect them at all costs. Ensure they would never be threatened by demons or monsters again. Buffy considered stepping in, she could feel the small shudder in the earth before the fall, but it had never been her calling to intervene. Her calling was to be impartial. To hear everyone out.

And like a ball of wool that dropped, rolled forth, and slowly unraveled, the next moments came inexorably apart. Her hands too slow and too clumsy to catch the yarn.

Osprey reached out and grabbed the mace. 

Esumesa flinched, an inner battle played briefly across his features. And then, with a jerk, he pulled the weapon free. He shook his head violently and moved back closer to the edge of the boulder. 

Osprey followed. He held out his hand one more time. 

Esumesa shook his head again. 

Osprey grabbed Esumesa's arm. A shove in return. Osprey raised a hand that radiated with a blue light from within. Esumesa's eyes widened in fear. 

Esumesa lifted the mace. He struck it down. The fight was over before it began. 

Osprey fell. One hit with the mace was enough to kill even an immortal being.

An angry scream pierced Buffy's ears. 

Atakan.

Esumesa hadn't heard a sound. He stood petrified, staring at the ground and at the lifeless Osprey. 

Atakan raced up the boulder, spurred on by fury. "Esumesa, you traitor. We had agreed. We had agreed," he yelled. Anger rose in Buffy's chest like boiling water. How could he betray them so? Then a moment of uncertainty. Accident. It must have been an accident. Esumesa hadn't meant to cause any harm. 

But Atakan had already reached Esumesa, he struck him once and shoved him to the ground, dropped down on top of his chest and hit his face over and over again. 

Now the third man also hurried up the boulder, but he was too slow to stop the tragedy unfolding in front of them. 

Esumesa threw Atakan off, eyes swollen and blood running from his lips, and Buffy watched in horror as the two men went at each other for a second round. 

It all went too fast. 

Esumesa swung the mace at Atakan. Atakan pulled the knife from its sheath and lunged forward. The blade cut through Esumesa's sacred armor like it was mere leather, an insubstantial thing. It cut right through the material and into Esumesa's chest. 

Fear took hold of Buffy and wrapped her body in an ice-cold grasp. All the heat left the desert. Visions of demons flashed before her eyes. Nightmares and terrors of indescribable evil. The Old Ones. How they had faced them together. How they had banned them. How they had cut them down. Buffy had commanded armies on this most unholy quest. And yet in all her life, she had never been as scared as she was now.

Esumesa took a step back, coughed, and slipped over a small ledge in the stone. He tried to steady himself, swung his arms in circles like a bird taking flight. He turned his sword arm, mace extended, in his hand. It hit.

Buffy heard Atakan's armor crack, and underneath the sound of splintering bones. 

Atakan turned towards the third man, who'd just reached the top. "Hal Han..." he began, but the rest of the sentence never came.

Esumesa sank slowly like a leaf. 

Atakan fell to the ground with a thud.

Before Hal Han reached him, Atakan's eyes had already clouded over. Hal Han dropped to his knees, touched Atakan's chest, moved over his entire body with his hands. He grabbed the armor at the armholes and shook Atakan, started undoing the clasp on the side, but his fingers trembled, and he couldn't get the fastening to open. He moved closer to Atakan's head, slid his fingers down the side of his neck, where a pulse should have been. 

Nothing. 

Buffy grabbed her left hand with her right. Her fingers trembled, the tips had gone numb.

Hal Han took Atakan's head in both hands and let their foreheads touch. He mumbled sentences, strings of vowels that sputtered out with no sense, broke them apart, more random sounds than actual words. 

Tears began to pool in the corners of his eyes.

And then a wail cut through the desert that wasn't like anything Buffy had ever heard. Even with all the death she'd witnessed, even with all the ends she'd caused, she'd never observed a sound of such loss and despair. 

It was a scream sharp enough to cut through one hundred thousand years of human history. 

She knew exactly how it felt.

Before Buffy could turn to Angel, they were pulled out of the desert and shot high up into the sky. The gnarled Joshua trees were gone; below them, tundra and forests flew by. They soared over a mountain range, one peak more majestic than the next, their tips covered in ragged snow formations. Through layers of marble and slate, Buffy and Angel dove deep into the stone, deeper down still until they came to a halt inside another cave. It was cold down here, and quiet and a fine layer of dew spread out across Buffy's skin.

A large stone, like the one they had seen underneath LA, barred the entrance to a chamber. And like in LA, this stone, too, had been adorned with a multitude of symbols.

"This is not a house of worship. This is a house of death," Buffy read. How she understood the meaning, she did not know. It was a last warning to whoever might be careless enough to try and enter. 

Buffy and Angel slipped through the stone with ghostly ease and into the chamber that lay beyond.

Hal Han stood next to a sarcophagus in the middle of the room. His face was gaunt, the blue-grey shine of the walls reflected from his features in a sickly hue. In his hands, he held the javelin, polishing its blade with care. He wiped over the shaft until not a speck of dust remained, inspected it for any irregularities, and then put the javelin down in the white stone box. Hal Han rested his hand on the ledge, then hoisted himself up onto its rim. He pulled a dagger from a scabbard on his belt, took the weapon into both hands, and pointed the tip at himself. 

Without a last prayer or a moment's hesitation, Hal Han rammed the blade into his abdomen. His face twitched, then turned back into a white mat mask. He adjusted his hold on the dagger's handle and started pulling it up, fighting every inch from his body. When he reached his sternum, he pulled the weapon out at last. 

Hal Han's movements were shaky now. 

The dagger slipped from his grasp and dropped to the ground.

At last, he let himself fall backward and into the sarcophagus, and his body disappeared behind its pristine walls.

* * *

A flush of icy water hit Angel's face, and he jerked his head backward. The voices and shadows were gone. The pond was just a pond. Buffy and he had returned to the basement of the Lake House. Angel pulled his hands out of the water. They'd gotten so cold, that even his fingers stung.

Next to him, Buffy shivered. Her lips were pale and blue.

But it wasn't just the cold. The visions had spread through Angel's entire body, they had seeped through his skin and his bones, and even though he knew the scenes had only played out in his mind, his hand grazed over his abdomen to make sure there was no cut, and he shook his head to dispel the feeling of emptiness that still lingered.

Buffy pulled her knees to her body, and vigorously rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

Angel felt the sudden urge to move over, to hold her close, but he sat down on his hands instead. "I know where it is," he murmured "I know where they both are."

"How? The mega-home is clearly in LA, but..." Buffy managed to suppress the chattering of her teeth, but her voice sounded shaky and hoarse. She stopped rubbing her arms and set up straighter.

"The mansion is in the Hollywood Hills. I was there for a Wolfram & Hart event before..." Angel trailed off. Everything inside him tightened. The second part of the answer unwittingly went to a place that he didn't go to anymore. A memory he hadn't visited in a long time.

Buffy waited for him to make a move, her expression was unjudging, her eyes large green pools.

All the emotions from the vision washed over Angel again. The bloodlust. The anger. The futility. The desolation and loneliness inside the grave.

Buffy wouldn't push for details. They didn't have that kind of relationship anymore. He could just name the location and be done with it. She didn't expect him to share. That's what you did with people you trusted. People you…

The water in the pond had returned to its quiet ripple and sloshed gently back and forth.

"After you...after you died, I went to Sri Lanka." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "But I traveled all over Asia before that. That's where I saw the mountain. The locals call it Rajako Ghara. The Seat of the King." 

And like the vision before, Angel's own memories came rushing back to him. He hadn't even taken the time to talk to Willow. He hadn't waited to explain anything to his friends. He'd just run. For hours. Until he'd somehow ended up in the harbor of LA. His hands had been bloody and bruised, and his clothes had been dirty and ripped. Angel had no recollection of how either had happened. To this day, he had no clue. The sun had been about to come up, and when Angel saw the ship, saw the cargo being loaded, he just stepped in. He'd never mentioned it to anyone. He'd returned to the Hyperion months later, and no one had asked for details on how exactly he'd disappeared. "Maybe 'traveled' isn't the right word," he said. "I just…" 

"Couldn't stop walking?" 

Angel turned back to Buffy. Their eyes locked. And then Buffy shifted and started picking at the rock on the ground.

"The walking. I get that. I only went to LA." She chuckled, a weary and raw sound. "But I don't think I stopped moving for the first two months. I waited tables, one shift, two shifts, back to back. I was like robot-girl. I kept moving until I realized one day that I still existed, even if I stopped. Which, ironically, at that moment was almost worse."

Buffy had never mentioned her time in LA explicitly. In the months after he came back from hell, they rarely talked about what their relationship had cost either of them. It was still jarring now, but it hurt less than Angel had expected, and there was a strange comfort in knowing he wouldn't have to explain to Buffy how not dying felt like the worst kind of betrayal

Without elaborating further, Buffy got up and walked to the door. She put her hand on the handle and pushed it down. Then she halted. "Did you ever think about...you know...?" Her gaze stayed fixed on wood and metal.

"Killing myself?"

Her head sagged in a tentative 'yes.'

Angel tried to recall all the feelings he'd had. The utter blinding rage. At himself. At everyone else. How in some moments he'd wanted to smash random people's heads in. The bleakness. How it felt like his insides had been chewed up and sucked out, and there was nothing left, and only a shell remained.

"No." It came out harsher than he'd intended it to. "Like you said, you keep on moving, and one day you realize that you're still there and that you have a job to do."

She nodded. "Always the mission."

"I guess. There's always something we can do."

"Something bigger than us."

Angel's lips curled up in a tired smile, and his voice got quieter. "And of course, if you go all the way, you'd have to be pretty confident that you end up in the same place. I mean, there's no way..."

Buffy pulled her gaze up from the door handle and looked straight at Angel again. Her lips parted as if she wanted to disagree because she knew better than him. Then a shadow crossed Buffy's face, and she pressed her lips together, holding something back that she wasn't ready to share.

But for the first time since she had come to LA, it seemed to Angel like Buffy actually saw him.


	17. Sea-Nymphs Hold Their Court

It was early afternoon when Buffy found Angel in a sunroom near the entrance of the Lake House.

After they came back up from the basement, they parted with the plan to reconvene later. Exhaustion had dragged at Buffy and Angel like a set of drenched clothes. The urge to change had been so strong that Angel jumped into the shower for a second time that day. Even with the hot water turned up to the highest setting, he still felt inexplicably cold. Then he'd taken a nap. Angel's muscles ached, and his head felt mushy. The fatigue was so complete, he believed he had actually walked through a desert and descended from a mountain. And Angel had to get his act together before he and Buffy discussed the end of the world or ancient star-crossed lovers again. He had already said too much. They weren't friends, and any closeness they shared now would just hurt them when tentative hopes and timid expectations fell flat later on. It was always the same. They had to put more distance between them and fast. 

Buffy plunged down on the couch next to Angel with a disappointed groan. "I've tried everything," she said and put down her cell-phone and several printouts on a small table in front of them. Squiggles and stick figures with horns and fangs lined the margins. "All the flights are booked out tonight. Or the flight is booked. There's only one connection that will reach LA at a time that ensures I don't have to carry you home in a Ziploc. Don't you have a private jet or something?" 

Angel shook his head. "Not since I killed the board of directors of Wolfram & Hart. They were kinda stingy with the benefits afterward." He closed the book he was holding and put it down next to Buffy's papers. He'd found several volumes in the study that appeared helpful to their case and had skimmed through them while Buffy tried to book a return flight to LA. 

From the looks of it, Angel had gotten quite far. Some of the books had post-its sticking out of them. He had covered a notepad with bullets and references and replications of the glyphs from Atakan's grave. Another row of drawings depicted glyphs he'd seen inside the mountain this morning. A voice had whispered to him then that the dues were not his to pay, but Angel didn't know how that would help them now. He had recreated the signs the best he could, but the lines had been redrawn, until the pencil's graphite had become smudgy and dark and cut deep into the paper. 

If Angel was honest with himself, he hadn't found any substantial new clues. They should've taken a Watcher with them, someone who got a bigger kick out of deciphering old cryptic writing. Wesley's face briefly flashed before his inner eye.

Buffy leaned against the backrest of the couch and overextended her head backward. "So what do you wanna do? We could drive? But that's probably gonna take at least 20 hours."

Angel propped his hands up on his knees. "Let's just stay one more night and figure out our plan in the meantime. Who goes to fetch the javelin. Who tries to get the knife and the mace back." He handed Buffy the notepad. "What do you think?"

"Oh, those are good. Look at you being all kinetic."

"Eidetic?"

Buffy winked at him. 

Angel chuckled. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man with the green suit crossing the lounge and making his way towards them.

"And have you thought about tonight?" The man called over and took a few more steps in their direction. "I just thought I should tell you..." He stopped when he saw the drawings in Buffy's hand. "Are those Ekumbrian glyphs?" He sounded more excited than seemed appropriate in the face of Angel's scribbles.

"Do those look familiar to you? I found little on them so far." Angel pointed at the stack of books. All the glyphs he'd found were either too curly or too straight or too abstract or just wrong. 

Buffy handed the spiral notebook over.

The man pulled a monocle from his coat pocket and held it over his right eye. "I've spent a lot of time with my friend Niall around the Fertile Crescent, scouring excavation sites." He inspected the drawings more closely. "They're very old. Older than most languages. But then again, so am I." There was almost a childish glee about him. "Where did you find these?"

"They were inscribed on a stone door in a cave, but nowhere near the Middle East," Angel said.

The man nodded as if he had expected such an answer. Then he sat down in a chair opposite from Buffy and Angel, skimmed over the spines of the books that were splayed out on the table, grabbed one, and flipped through its pages. "This is quite something you found there. It's a lock. And a magical one at that."

"How do you open it?" Buffy asked.

"If you do what is asked of you naturally."

"Like in Lord of the Rings? Say friend and enter?" 

The man raised his eyebrows. "Not quite. Think more along the lines of access through worthiness. Sword in the Stone? It's a popular trope in ancient magic. The glyphs are fairly common, but this language has a very different grammar than English. Without context, the phrases can mean different things. Object can be subject. What looks like a noun can also be a verb. Often a double or triple meaning is added on purpose to make the lock harder to crack. Look here." He pointed at each sign on the sheet. "Prayer. Gods. Conciliation. Soul."

"What does that mean?" Angel asked.

The man shook his head. My first guess would be 'Devoted to the gods, a conciliator of the self,' but it could also mean 'Through the Powers, a soul returned to balance.' There could have been an upheaval? The requirement could be the return from a moral failure of some kind?" 

"How about these? We already opened the tomb behind them. We just don't know how." Angel pointed at the line at the top.

"It's the same with these." The man pointed at each symbol as he said the word. "Fate. Reverence. Hero. Gods. Does that make more sense?"

"Maybe? Angel has like a freelance deal as a champion for the Powers That Be," Buffy said.

The man nodded with understanding. Working to the Powers was probably like a regular office job around here. But Angel was growing slightly uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed.

"I just wouldn't know where the reverence comes in." 

"I'm afraid it's not quite as simple, either," the man said. "Of course, the most obvious translation would be 'Revered champion of the Gods', but it's more than that." His expression clouded over. "That glyph, I don't think it translates well into English. Reverence is not the right word. But then neither is allegiance." He took a breath, considering his next words. He focused on Angel. His eyes suddenly seemed unnaturally large. Then he shifted slightly and looked at Buffy with the same intensity. "These glyphs speak more of a conviction. A mission if you will. They speak of a person you willingly follow into the dark." 

Buffy went stiff. Angel cringed. 

"But I don't know if that's relevant, since you said that tomb had already been opened," he said and put the paper down. "So about tonight." The man clapped his hands together. His pensiveness had disappeared, and his enthusiasm returned with vivacity.

Angel had never been so grateful for a change of topic in his life.

"Right tonight," Buffy said. "There's a party tonight, that's all partysome. Will there be drinks with umbrellas? Does it have a dress code?"

The man tilted his head. "Not that I know of, but I expect people will dress nicely. These kinds of festivities don't happen often."

"Because I only brought work-clothes." Buffy gestured at her black skinny jeans and her white t-shirt.

"I'm sure this will be fine," the man said and stroked his beard. "But, if you wanted to borrow something, I know who you could ask. I'm sure they brought suitcases full of brand new clothes."

"If you're certain, they don't mind, that would be great. Thank you, Mr…"

"O. You can just call me O."

* * *

The phone buzzed.

For a moment, Angel was startled, failing to identify the sound. 

The phone buzzed again. 

He picked it up from the nightstand. Two unread messages.  
  


_"Small earthquake in LA. Hotel & gang are fine.   
_ _Hope she hasn't staked you yet!"  
  
_

_"Call me if you need help! XD"  
  
_

Angel's brows furrowed, then his expression turned from glower into a mischievous smile. They always needed volunteers to patrol the sewers, and Connor had just moved himself into the first spot of the line.

Then again, maybe he needed help. Buffy hadn't staked him yet. She hadn't really had the chance. Or he hadn't given her much of a reason to do so. Since their argument in the Slayer house, Angel had tried to stay away from any stake-drawing topics and had focused on banalities instead. But even innocent subjects were a slippery slope. ' _How's Europe? Last time I went to Edinburgh, it ended in a bit of a massacre.' 'How are the other Slayers? I mean, the ones that aren't trying to kill me?' 'How's Jake? He didn't get run over by a truck by chance?'_ Angel couldn't believe he remembered the name. He'd even forgotten who'd told him about the man in the first place. One of the Slayers must have mentioned Buffy's boyfriend in passing. Or maybe it was Willow, when she came to LA the last time. No, he'd known about Jake before then. Someone had told him about Buffy and her boyfriend years ago when it was new. Since then, it had become a topic he tried not to broach. Especially not with Buffy. He was happy for her, people said Jake Mara was a good guy, but that's were his needing-to-know ended. Angel turned on his phone again and checked the time. Now that he thought about her, he realized he hadn't seen or heard from Buffy in several hours.

They'd split after their talk with O, and Buffy had followed the man to meet his friends, while Angel had gone to his room to finish browsing through the books. With the hint on what they were looking for, Angel had found more insights into magic locks and how to open them. Sometimes the only requirement was good intentions, but a virgin's tears or the crowing sound of a rooster could also be an option. None of the locks in the books mentioned Ekumbrian glyphs, though. If they wanted to get to the javelin, they would have to trust O's translation or run everything by Giles and the other Watchers again. Maybe they would have more luck coming up with a match.

Angel hoisted himself out of his chair and walked over to the panorama window. White boats crossed the lake. Their canvas sails billowed in the wind. The only sounds around Angel were the soft sighs of the wooden planks in the walls. It was peaceful here. 

But of course, that wasn't his reality. His life was chaotic and unpredictable. This was only a facade. And Buffy of all people was playing along to keep the cover-up. She seemed perfectly fine with the Potemkin villages they'd set up around their past. The fight in the kitchen, everything that ever came before that, they'd put it to the side as usual.

Angel tried to recall the last time he'd seen Buffy before the Fall. They hadn't exactly been at ease with each other, but the future had been attainable.  
  


_'I do...sometimes, I think that far ahead.'  
_ _'Sometimes is something.'  
  
_

But far ahead had come and gone, and whatever Buffy had thought of that night had never happened. Or maybe he had misunderstood what she'd meant, and it had been a brush off after all. She left the crater that once was Sunnydale behind and never looked back. It was ridiculous to expect anything else. Nothing had changed. Well, almost nothing.

Rapping sounds on the door pulled Angel from his thoughts. 

He turned from the window. 

The rapping became more urgent. 

Angel walked over, grabbed the door handle, and then stopped. Even if she hadn't been knocking like she would break down the door any minute, he would have known exactly who was waiting on the other side. 

Then he pulled the door open.

Buffy's hand hung halfway in the air, she was panting, eyes wide open. Her hair splayed across her shoulders in loose waves, her skin almost glowed. Buffy grinned, like the best thing ever had just happened. Years ago, she would have come over to his place after school with a similar expression on her face. Bursting with news, about Willow and Xander, or about how her Mom was out of town, or how her Dad had sent money for a trip to the mall.

"You will not believe what happened!" Buffy exclaimed and stepped into the room, pushing him to the side with several dry cleaner bags she was holding in the one hand and two pairs of shoes she was holding in the other.

"I won't?"

"Well, you will, because you'll see them, too, but have you ever met a nymph?"

"Nymph as in nature spirit? Those exist?"

She nodded emphatically. "They do, and they're out of this world. Completely gorgeous. Also, they did bring a ton of clothes." She hoisted the bags higher and almost shoved them into Angel's face "I think they brought more than I own." 

Angel carefully stepped back to make sure his eyes didn't get poked out by the wire hangers.

"Anyway, we should hang out with them later. Because…" Buffy moved past him and into the middle of the room "... they're super fun." Then she went straight into the bathroom, not bothering to ask him if he minded.

"Buffy, are you okay?"

Buffy's head darted out of the bathroom. "I'm fine. Great actually. I just can't decide on the dress. They're all perfect." Her head disappeared again. The sound of plastic crunching and zippers being pulled resounded from the other room. "So I think this is my favorite," Buffy said. "It's a bit frilly. But why not? The next apocalypse is on its way. Might as well seize the day and look good while going out. Carpe that diem alright."

Angel sat down on the foot of the bed, unsure whether he should be excited for her or concerned. "Are you drunk?"

"Nooo. Not at all." Buffy paused. "Though the girls had mimosas. They did warn me about their effect on humans. Apparently, it's a nymph thing."

"It's a what--"

"So, what do you think?" Buffy stepped out of the bathroom. 

Angel stared at her unmoving.

"Not good?" she asked, chewing her lower lip.

The afternoon sun flowed around Buffy in a golden hug. She had pulled her hair up in a messy ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed. The dress she was wearing was held up by a thin strap around her neck, leaving her tanned shoulders neckline and collar bones uncovered. Below the tight bodice, the skirt splayed out in a soft pattern of luminous wildflower hues. If spring had worn a dress to a party, this would have been it.

"Or that good?" Her mouth formed into a small, pointed smile. She slightly tilted her head to the side.

There were many downsides to being a vampire. And then there were moments when not needing to breathe and not having circulation had its perks. This was one of them.

Angel looked to the side. "Right. You...do...You look great."

She grinned. "I do, right? Also, check this out!" She hid her hands in the fabric of the skirt. "It has pockets! I could even bring weapons tonight!"

* * *

Throughout the afternoon, Angel had watched the party preparations in the garden from his room. And now that evening had turned into night, the full effect of the decorations unfolded. Glas lanterns of different sizes swayed in the trees and illuminated the ground below. White garlands had been strung from one branch to another across the lawns, and a canopy of leaves shielded long tables with elaborate centerpieces of fern, moss, and bark. These handmade roofs, too, had been adorned with tiny lights. At first glance, it appeared as if the stars had fallen from the sky and settled right in between the plaited leaves.

The atmosphere was intimate, and even though the festivities had just begun, the guests were already tipsy and relaxed. They hugged and chinked their glasses, and every now and then, a loud gust of laughter flurried above the gathering.

Over in a corner, a bonfire crackled and changed its colors from red to white to green. Children squealed as they tried to pin a tail onto a cardboard donkey that kept running away from them.

Angel stood underneath a large oak tree and watched the party from the sidelines. The beer in his hand was slowly getting stale. 

On the other side of the lawn stood a small stage. A band had started playing a while ago, and people danced and swayed on a makeshift dance floor in front of them. Fireflies flittered in loopy circles above their heads.

Buffy was right in the middle of it all. Twirling and holding hands with the nymphs, laughing, and singing along to every tune. The nymphs had adopted her into their group, no questions asked. And they would've probably dragged him along, too, if he hadn't excused himself quickly enough claiming that he wanted to find O to talk more about the glyphs. Buffy had been ready to say something snarky, but then the band had started playing, and she had started laughing instead because ' _Of course it had to be covers of jam band indie rock_ ' and ' _How it couldn't get any more Seattle than that_.' One of the nymphs dragged her into the center of the fray then, and Angel was left behind, not knowing what jambandindierock was. It seemed okay enough, though.

Buffy appeared and disappeared within the group of dancers. She spun around, while her hands held her dress in place, making sure her skirt wouldn't fly too high. She was getting out of breath, and a slight shimmer spread down her back and her arms, the ends of her blonde hair getting stuck to her naked shoulder blades. The skirt fell in weightless pleats down to her knees, creating an intricate pattern of dusky pink, saffron, and lilac around her body. The nymphs squealed as a new song started. Something about sleeping and spells and losing your grip on reality. Angel had never heard the song before, but he got the sentiment. On days like this, he wasn't so sure whether he was right side up or upside down either.

Buffy paused for a second, while the nymphs twirled around her. She scanned the crowd, looked over the table sets, and wrinkled her nose. Then their eyes met. She grinned and waved. He smiled, too, returning her gesture. His wave much more timid, though. A nymph grabbed Buffy's arm and pulled her back into the middle of the group, and she was gone again.

"She's really not uncomely,“ someone said from behind Angel.

Angel turned towards the voice. A ghostlike figure had appeared next to him. It shimmered in tints of blue, its translucent form similar to a man, but not at all bound to a defined shape. The ghost's head seemed to face towards the stage and the dancers, but as it lacked all features, the actual direction was hard to tell.

Angel followed the gaze of the ghost to the middle of the lawn. Although he was sure there was no misunderstanding, he still asked. "Who?"

The ghost shifted, now facing Angel. "I heard the Slayer was quite special."

"She's definitely having a great time." 

"It's below the surface. But then the nymphs do that to you. They bring up the best from your depths. Maybe you want to give it a try?"

"Frolicking is really not my strong suit." 

The ghost made a soft humming sound. "Yes, I can see that. The weight of the world is heavy most times."

Angel looked for Buffy, but she and the nymphs had disappeared again. He turned back to the ghost, but the specter, too, was gone. Then he heard giggles from behind. Like the spray of mist at the bottom of a waterfall, the sound washed over him.

"Hey Angel, the girls said they wanted to come over and properly introduce themselves."

Buffy had returned with the nymphs. Their summer dresses were even more elaborate than hers. Their hair was pulled up and braided in different styles. There was something ethereal about them, their happiness was infectious. To say that they were beautiful was missing the mark. 

The nymphs giggled.

"Girls, this is Angel. Angel, this is…"

The nymphs squeezed around Buffy and stretched out their hands.

"Nana."

"Daphne."

"Lilaia"

"Hi," they said in unison. 

Nana turned back to Buffy. "Sweet, Perseus! Girl, you didn't lie." 

Buffy shook her head, making a face like a sommelier who was presenting her best vintage. All four of them started to giggle again.

Angel wasn't so sure he got the joke. 

"He doesn't know, does he?" Daphne murmured.

Buffy shook her head 'no,' fighting to suppress a laugh.

"Oh, boy…"

"What do I need to know?" Angel thought he should be getting worried, but somehow he didn't. As a matter of fact, he had rarely felt so at ease and balanced.

"Oh nothing, honey. You're all good. You're fine."

The nymphs and Buffy broke out in a fit of laughter again.

"Buffy, I know I asked this before, but are you drunk now?"

Buffy tried hard to regain composure and wiped a tear from her eye.

"No. I'm alright. I'm alright. We were just... It's them. I told you." She pointed at the nymphs. "They do this spa thingy for your mind."

"She's lying. It's totally a bit like getting drunk," Nana added. "Only there's no hangover. You wanna give it a try?"

"I'm not good at being too happy," Angel said and took a step back.

"Oh, don't worry. It's all perfectly safe. And it'll all be back to normal by the end of the night. Sometimes it's good for the head to stop worrying for a little while." Nana held out her hand. 

Angel looked at Buffy, who nodded eagerly. It couldn't be bad, could it? 

A break from worrying would be nice. 

He put his hand into Nana's, and warmth started to spread through his palm, like a soft pulse. For a moment, the worry surged. What if he needed his edge tonight? What if this was more malicious? But as soon as he had conjured the thoughts, they left his mind. Angel's arms went slack. The warmth radiated into his chest. The heat ran through his back like a river. He inhaled. A useless move, but right now, it felt like something he needed to do. The scent of meadows and fresh-cut grass wafted into his nose. Deep down, he felt the demon stir. It briefly roused and then went back to sleep, got covered by a blanket of light, and carried away on a summer breeze. The demon had never been there. There was nothing left of its darkness or darkness at all. No worry. No fear. No shame. Everything was going to be okay. Underneath the smell of fresh-cut grass and lilies of the valley, something that was distinctly home touched his soul. And then the scent orange zest and sandalwood. A place that was almost better than anywhere else he'd ever been. He hadn't felt so calm since...

The grip on Angel's hand loosened. He opened his eyes.

Buffy stood in front of him, looking giddy, expectantly, as if she'd just handed him a birthday present and was waiting for his reaction. "She's good, eh?"

Nana gave him a wink. Then she sauntered back to the other nymphs, and together they made their way back towards the crowd. "We'll see you later, Buffy," they called.

"You can say it," Buffy said as they stared after the trio mesmerized. "They are the most beautiful women you've ever seen."

"They're not women are they?" 

"Potato, potahto. How do you feel?"

How did he feel? Clean? Refreshed? Elated? Like he had just gotten home after a long journey, showered, and taken a nap in a bed with freshly washed linen. "Good. I feel good."

"What was it like?" Buffy asked. "Your happy place? Apparently that's a thing. Or so they said. Everyone has a secret happy place. Mine was all cool, minty sea breeze."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you care about fashion. [This](https://www.livingly.com/Zac+Posen's+Most+Incredible+Runway+Gowns/articles/UCkY3LbCJMy/Zac+Posen+Spring+2006) is the dress I used as inspiration. Of course I had to look through several collections from the early 2000s, cause I couldn't remember what people wore.


	18. Dreams Are Hard To Unravel...

Buffy stirred when the sunlight hit her face. She inhaled, taking in the smell of lavender laundry detergent and underneath it the scent of something heartrending familiar. She felt the pillow's soft cool against her face and the comforting weight of his arm on top of the blanket. 

She felt safe and calm. Everything was right. 

Buffy shifted under the duvet and onto her back, slowly moving her face to the crook of his neck. Rested it right above his collar bone, where his shoulder started. The fading scent of aftershave and summer air lingered here, and she wondered whether she could kiss him without waking him up. 

He stirred. 

Maybe she'd moved too much. 

He pulled his other arm out from underneath her and opened his eyes. Their faces were only inches apart.

"Hi," he said drowsily.

"Hi," she whispered back.

He was so close. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a tiny bow. A secret smile that he only ever revealed for her. Had he always been this beautiful? He must have been. He didn't change. It was just that sometimes she forgot. And all the more it hit her, when she noticed again. When she saw how much he stood out. At a party with two hundred guests, there was no one like him. He dimmed the lights. He drowned out the sound. 

He reached over to the side of her face and cupped her cheek with his hand. His own face moved closer. Her heart fluttered in her chest, a hummingbird trying to break free. His lips touched hers. Tender. Undemanding, but wanting more. She opened her mouth. He gently sucked on her lower lip. She moved her hand to the back of his neck, her fingers raking through his hair. 

God, how she had missed this.

Then he coughed. 

He tried to suppress the tremor in his chest, still kissing her. But then he had to cough once more. He slowly pulled back, his hand still lingering on her jaw, a confused smile on his face. 

Buffy smiled, easing her hold on the back of his head to give him some space.

He coughed again, broke them apart, and rolled onto his back. He started heaving now. His movements became more hectic. He tossed and turned, battling an invisible foe who was choking him. He got tangled in the sheets, kicked them off, his breathing erratic and panic-fueled. 

Then the thrashing stopped.

"Angel?" Buffy asked with a voice so fragile she barely recognized it.

His body was still. His eyes were open wide in terror. Tears pooled in the corners and slowly ran down his temples and onto the pillow. His white t-shirt began to turn red. An ugly flower of blood bloomed across his belly and grew over his chest. At first, it only colored his clothes, then it spread down his sides and seeped into the sheets. 

Angel made another wheezing sound, asthmatic and wet, a man drowning on dry land. And then all movements stopped, and his head rolled over to one side, his eyes blank.

Buffy woke with a jolt.

She clasped her hands over her mouth. Holding back a scream, she wasn't even sure she was going to let out. Everything around her was quiet. Buffy blinked once, twice. Lowered her hands. Light had started streaming into the room. Her surroundings took on a more distinct shape. She was at the Lake House. She was in one of the guest beds, although she didn't know how she had gotten here exactly. The events of last night were clouded over in her mind. In contrast, her dream was all the more vivid. She slowly turned over, afraid of what waited for her on the other side of the bed.

Angel lay next to her. He lay on top of the blanket that she was covered with. His hands folded across his chest. Completely still, like he always slept. His t-shirt and the sheets were pristine white. There was not a speck on his dark pants.

Relief flooded through her. 

A cloud moved across the sky, and more sunlight streamed into the room. The rays streaked Angel's body in bright strokes. His arms, his shoulders, the short hair at the nape of his neck. 

Buffy wanted to crawl over and into his arms, wanted to wake him, so he would hold her and tell her everything would be fine. "Baby, I had a horrible dream," her mind whispered groggily, still unable to differentiate between the fickle borders of sleep and reality. 

And then the fog in her head dispersed and with it the puffy, sugar-sweet reveries of boyfriend-girlfriend-lazy-mornings, of waking up and dozing off in each other's arms. And the soft shapes of the world in her mind developed sharper edges.

She was in Seattle. She was on a mission. She had a nightmare. Again. Her head hurt. Her mouth tasted like cotton balls. She was in Angel's bed, still dressed in a borrowed high fashion summer dress that was probably ruined now. If he woke up next to her, he would freeze. Or freak out. Or apologize profusely for not sleeping on the floor. Or all of it in rapid succession. No matter that nothing had happened that was worth freaking out over or apologizing for.

And the fifteen inches between them were not a distance she could bridge. It was a chasm as vast as the Atlantic Ocean. 

They weren't boyfriend and girlfriend. They weren't even friends. They were nothing.

It was high time to finish all of this.

Buffy rolled to the edge of the mattress without disturbing Angel and then slowly let herself drop down to the floor. She grabbed the heels that stood lined up at the foot of the bed in an orderly manner. With a couple of quick and silent steps, she was out of the room.

* * *

Angel stirred when the sunlight hit his face. His head felt mushy. It was much too early to get up. He grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed and covered his face to shield his eyes from the sun. 

A familiar scent hit him like a wrecking ball. 

Angel groaned. This wasn't good. He slightly lifted the pillow and peeked out from underneath the fabric and to the other side of the mattress. Empty. That was better. He looked down at his body. T-shirt. Check. Pants. Check. Things were improving. He hadn't done anything catastrophically stupid. He had to be wrong about the scent. He wasn't thinking straight yet. Dreams mixed in with reality. His senses playing tricks on him. He rolled over to the other side to get up and out and…

The entire bed smelled like Buffy. 

He dropped down and back into the mattress. There was no mistaking it. She was everywhere. Bad. Bad. This was really bad. 

He rubbed his palms over his eyes and his cheeks and tried to recall what had happened the night before.

They'd been at the party watching people, enjoying the music. Well, Buffy had enjoyed the music. He'd stood on the side, hoping he'd be overlooked as a small talk target. At some point, Buffy brought the other women, nymphs, over to talk to him. He still had no idea what that had been all about. One of them took his hand. He couldn't recall why he let her do that. Her touch felt like a shower after a dungeon crawl, like someone swept through his insides and opened all the curtains wide. But it didn't remain that way. He felt elated. Drunk almost. Buffy laughed so hard. 

When the fountains started, she took his hand and pulled him through the crowd. She'd taken her shoes off, and they raced each other to the house and climbed up onto the balcony in front of his room for a better view. Buffy was so excited. Staring at the lights and the water, dancing and shooting up into the night sky like they had a will of their own. Buffy was struck by a sense of wonder; she said she hadn't felt since she was a child. And Angel had to admit, as well, that in two and a half centuries he had never seen anything quite like it before.

Other bits and pieces of last night crawled slowly back into his memory.

* * *

Buffy lounged back on the deck chair and propped her feet up on the railing. They were sore from dancing in wedge sandals, and she flexed her toes and her arches to give them a stretch. Then she craned her neck. "Check out the stars! It's a beautiful night," she exclaimed as Angel sat down in the chair next to her. "Do you know any signs?"

Angel shrugged. He was also feeling the remnants of the day in his bones. "The Great Bear? But, I guess everyone knows that one."

Buffy snorted. "Yeah, even I do." 

"Cassiopeia? The W?" He pointed at several stars.

"Those?" Buffy asked, mimicking his movement.

"No, here." He grabbed her wrist and moved her hand in W-shape across the nighttime sky. Gazing at the stars now, he realized he hadn't looked upwards in a very long time. During the last few years, his eyes had always been locked on the ground. Angel pointed at another constellation. "Orion?" 

"What's that?"

"His sword." 

"His sword? For real? It looks like...well you know...it's a big sword. That's how you know a guy made it up." Buffy laughed.

"I didn't make it up." Angel held up his hands defensively. "Oh, and there are two more. Hellhound and cave olm," he said with all the seriousness he could muster.

"Hellhound? Of course, it is." Buffy rolled her eyes.

"You never heard of the famous constellation? Can't you see the fangs and the measly tail?" His straight face started to crack up.

Buffy leaned over and punched his upper arm.

"You're so full of it. How many of these do you actually know?"

He reclined on the deck chair and studied the sky. "As usual, I gave you all I got."

Buffy straightened out the backrest of her chair until it was level with the seat, and she was lying down flat. "That's a steep price to get a girl on her back," she sighed dramatically. 

"Well, I can't always rely on my supreme social skills and my mysterious aura."

"Or your modesty."

They looked at each other. 

Buffy laughed louder.

And then Angel had to laugh, too, and for a split second, it felt weird how his chest reverberated with this strange sound. He hadn't done this in a long time.

They sat outside some more, playing it up, watching as the party dwindled down, making up ridiculous background stories for the eclectic selection of guests as they returned to the house. Shortly before daybreak, Buffy declared that she had to go to bed right this moment and walked off with only a curt goodnight. Angel realized then, too, how tired he was. He folded the deck chairs back up and followed Buffy into his room, only to realize that she hadn't come far. Instead of passing through, Buffy had curled up on his bed, still dressed, but already fast asleep. Her heels lay abandoned on the ground. Angel considered waking her up or digging through her pockets for her keys. Then he picked up her shoes, put them to the side, and pulled the comforter over her body. The bed was at least a king size. They wouldn't even touch. 

Angel bent forward, and his lips lightly grazed her temple. 

In her sleep, Buffy sighed.


	19. ...Wayward Drifting Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it to the half-way point. I can't believe it. Thank you for staying with the story so far. It means a lot to me!

Angel stood in front of Buffy's door, his eyes fixed on the small image of the hand-drawn seagull that served as a tag. White wings on a light blue sky. He lifted his fist to knock. Then he lowered it again. This shouldn't have been hard. This shouldn't have been hard at all. He'd thought about how to approach the situation, while he showered and got dressed. But the bathroom mirror had fogged up, and the water had run cold by the time he realized he hadn't made any progress.

He would just be casual about it. Nothing had happened. Buffy had probably just woken up and gone to her own room. Or she was mad. He had put her in an awkward situation. He should've slept on the floor. But he'd been wiped, too, and it hadn't seemed to matter all that much. And it was his bed. The person who had overstepped was her. He should just apologize and be done with it. It hadn't meant a thing. Water under the bridge. They would finish this job, and she would go back to her life, which was complicated enough as it was. Raising Dawn. Leading the Slayers. Saving the world.

He didn't need to make it more complicated.

Not for her.

The name Jake Mara briefly crossed his mind.

Not for himself.

He wouldn't apologize. The nothing that hadn't happened wasn't his fault.

He lifted his hand again.

"Ms. Summers has already gone downstairs." A frog with a loaded tray came waddling down the hallway. He did a little dance around Angel as he passed him, trying hard not to touch Angel with his delivery.

"Thank you. Did you see her in the winter garden?"

"Oh, no. I just came up from the basement." The frog tilted his head at the metal hood that covered the contents of the plate on his tray. The hood jiggled. "I passed her on the way to the Waters when I picked up a...special request."

  
  


* * *

  
  


_"Save the girl, save the world._ " The voice repeated over and over again.

Buffy couldn't make out anything in the bright light that surrounded her, but the voice remained adamant.

When the light vanished she was still alone. Not a soul was in sight. The Forbidden City loomed in the distance, a monument to a different time. Tian'anmen Square spread endlessly in the dark of the night. A girl with a black bob appeared.

Then a hooded figure stepped out of the shadows, approached the girl. "Nightraven?" it croaked. The girl nodded, and the figure held out its hand.

The girl hesitated, then dropped several gems into what looked more like a claw on second sight. "I need to meet the Dao Sha as soon as possible," the girl said. "We're trying to find someone. The fate of this world depends on it."

Buffy's fingers tingled with anticipation. This had to work.

The hooded figure nodded.

_"Save the girl, save the world."_

It was raining in torrents, but Buffy didn't get wet. The curtain of droplets just repelled from her body wherever it hit her.

A boy in green shorts ran across Alexanderplatz. The rain had soaked through his clothes. He wiped the water from his forehead and lightly grazed whoever he passed by. The sleeve of a businessman. The leg of a child in a stroller. The hand of a woman loaded with plastic shopping bags and a large red umbrella. The woman muttered some curses, but the boy paid her no mind. She wasn't right, and he didn't have time. He scurried around the corner of a large department store, turned around once, to make sure no one was looking and stretched his arms high above his head. And just like that the boy had turned into a middle-aged man in a green suit. He combed with his fingers through his hair and continued with fast steps. 

_"Save the girl, save the world."_

Buffy stood in Times Square. It was evening, and tourists gathered underneath the colorful neon signs, taking pictures of each other in Hard Rock Cafe t-shirts. Posing in front of the traffic and the yellow taxi cabs.

A man walked straight through her without taking note at all, and before Buffy could react, he had already passed her by. From behind, she recognized his shape, his gait, his fedora. He tried to squeeze his way through the masses and held on tight to his hat. He kept scanning the faces. Looking, searching for someone particular in the crowd. They weren't right. None of them were right. Buffy felt his disappointment seep into her gut. He’d been prowling the streets of New York for days. How hard could it be to find one guy? How well could anyone hide?

A flash of light.

Evening became daytime, but dark clouds still hung heavy in the sky. Buffy stood in the middle of the winter garden of the Lake House. None of the chairs and benches were taken, but a table had been set with six plates and six teacups. A tabby cat snored in one of the massive terra-cotta planters.

Whistler watched the effervescent water of the lake through the glass wall. A small boat was bobbing up and down on the gray waves, almost breaking its restraints.

"I’ve found what we are looking for!" Whistler suddenly exclaimed.

Egret stepped up next to him, her arms folded behind her back. "The Scourge of Europe? You think he's what we need?"

"Not right now, but he can be. I know he can save her." Whistler's voice wavered a little bit more than just a moment ago.

"Oh, I thought the Slayer would do the saving?"

Whistler shrugged. "Won’t that be one and the same in the end?"

Egret followed his gaze out to the lake and watched the boat rear up and shake. "Maybe you're right. Maybe all the dragons in our lives are secretly princesses who are only waiting for us to act with beauty and courage."

“Hesse?”

“Rilke.”

"So, what do you say?"

Egret held her breath, then released it with a sigh. "I've talked to O and Seven. If you're certain, we'll support your choice in every way."

A shape appeared behind Whistler and Egret, it shimmered in a translucent bluish hue. "The girl, is she uncomely?" it asked.

Whistler spun around, clearly surprised by the sudden apparition. "What? No. No." He shook his head as if to dispel a bee that was buzzing in his face. "She's not your average girl. She's brave. She's strong-willed. For a human, she's quite something."

Rain started to fall outside and ran down the windowpane in tiny rivulets. The ghost traced a drop on its path down the glass. "You know, the river runs to the sea. It always does," it said. The ghost turned to Whistler once more. "Water finds a way." Then it disappeared as abruptly as it had shown up in their midst.

"Ugh!" Whistler groaned. "I hate it when they do that."

Egret covered her mouth with her hand, hiding a smile. "They're not wrong, you know?"

"They're not. But do they need to be so smug about it?"

Egret walked over to the table and sat down in one of the chairs. "You've read them both?"

"Of course, I've read them both. Do you think this job is a joke to me? Although it was quite hard to get so close to a teenage girl without appearing like a creep."

"And?" Egret picked up a teapot and poured them both a cup.

Whistler took his fedora down, cleaned specs of invisible dust off its brim, and then streaked through his hair with his hand. He looked straight at Egret and said a word Buffy didn't understand. Images of of a burning a forrest and rain drowning the flames pushed their way to the forefront of her mind.

Egret's eyes went wide. The tea filled the cup up and poured over the rim. It ran down the porcelain and onto the saucer and over onto the table where it formed a small amber puddle. She didn’t even notice.

Buffy stared at the floor. The wooden boards changed into stone tiles. She spun around and looked at the familiar walls and the ceiling. The ugly demon statue that she would never forget. The sound of metal hitting metal echoed through the halls. Panic rose in her chest. The fear of having returned to a nightmare that she'd already spent countless hours of her life in. Retracing the steps. Thinking about what she could have done differently.

And then they appeared.

Angelus and another Buffy. Going after each other in a fight to the death. But the other Buffy was older than 17. Her bangs were braided and bound together with the rest of her hair in a bun. Her shoulders and her back were scratched, her black sleeveless top stained with blood.

Their swords came together with a shrill bang. Then they moved to the courtyard. The other Buffy fell to the ground, got up, lost her weapon. Angelus punched her in the face so hard that her teeth rattled in her head. He cornered her as she scrambled away on the ground. "You think I haven't seen this all before?" Angelus called out to her, his voice mocking. 

Buffy got sick to her stomach just hearing his voice, so angry, so full of disdain.

"The part where you just cut everyone out. You step away from everything human and act like you're the law. But this time is different." Angelus struck the sword down. 

But the fight wasn't over.

The other Buffy caught the blade in her hands before it hit. She shoved the hilt into his face with a crunch. Got up and kicked him in the chest. Angelus stumbled backward, unprepared for the sudden counterattack. The other Buffy won the upper hand. They went back and forth until she finally disarmed him and forced him to the ground. He looked up at her, his expression one of defiance. The other Buffy raised her voice. There was nothing tearful or uncertain about what she said next. "It is always different! It's always complicated. And at some point, someone has to draw the line. The Slayer is always cut off. There's no mystical guidebook, no all-knowing council. Human rules don't apply. There's only me."

Buffy could see her other self struggling, her features twisting into a pained grimace with the effort of what came next. "I killed Angel," the other Buffy shouted. "Do you remember that?! I loved him more than I will ever love anything in this life. I would have given up everything I had to be with…

The other Buffy halted. Her expression turned blank, then grim again. "I would have given up everything…" She halted again, her actions and voice caught in a stutter. "I would have given up everything…I would give up everything...I would give up everything..." she repeated and repeated.

The walls started to flicker. Angelus disappeared then reappeared again. The other Buffy's voice faded. The flickering increased. Acathla vanished. The walls vanished. In a vast nothingness, the other Buffy and Angelus remained frozen in their movements. She, with arms and sword lifted, he, kneeling on the ground in front of her.

Buffy's chest tightened. She couldn't breathe anymore. Something sharp clutched at her throat. Her hands involuntarily moved up to her neck. Pins and needles prickled under her ribs. A slick cold crept from her head over her entire body and burned in her eyes and nose. It spread through her mouth and her lungs, and then the other Buffy and Angelus were gone.

* * *

Angel rushed to the other side of the room and over to the pond. 

He lunged forward to grab Buffy's feet as they went into the water, but his grip came too late, and they slipped through his fingers and disappeared under the surface. The rest of Buffy's body was already submerged. She trashed and shook. In the tangle of body parts and white sputtering water, Angel couldn't even make out her limbs. Tentacles had wrapped around her squirming shape and pulled Buffy towards the deep end.

Angel picked himself up from the ground to go after her, but another two tentacles darted forward, wrapped themselves around Angel's body and pulled him into the water after Buffy.

In the darkness of the pond, Angel could make out Buffy trying to detangle from their attacker, but whenever she managed to pull a tentacle off her body, a new one-shot up and took hold of her again. Instead of pulling against the tight grasp, Angel found a ledge under his feet and propelled himself forward, slipping from the monster's hold. He reached Buffy with three strokes, revealed his fangs, and tore into the tentacle that had wound around her body. He ripped out a large chunk of soggy flesh, then grabbed the edges of the wound with his hands and pulled them further apart.

The creature recoiled and loosened its grasp on both of them.

As clouds of black blood rose in the water, Buffy managed to break free and struggle to the surface. 

Angel swam away from the deep end and pulled himself onto the shallow banks of the pond before the creature recuperated. Buffy was already out of the water, heaving and coughing on all fours, throwing up water and bile. Angel slipped, picked himself back up, and stepped out of the water in awkward hurried strides. He grabbed Buffy under one arm and dragged her up and away from the rim.

Her legs were still soft and gave way, but she steadied herself again and let him push her towards the door.

Neither of them waited to check whether the creature was following them or not.

Angel slammed the heavy wooden door shut behind them, and they both slid down to the ground.

"Are you alright?" Angel asked.

"I don't know." Buffy was still heaving. Red welts and rashes were beginning to bloom around her neck. She wrung her hair out and then the rim of her shirt. The water dripped onto the slate tiles.

"Buffy, why did you come back down here? Why would you do that?" Angel asked. Fear was slowly being taken over by frustration. "We know where we need to go. What on earth is worth taking such a risk?"

Buffy said nothing in return, but glowered at the ground instead.

Then a scream tore through the building. The sound of wood and glass breaking upstairs. More screams.

Buffy got up without meeting Angel's eye. "Let's go. Sounds like we're needed."

  
  



	20. It's Fate That Drives Me On

Egret crouched over the dead monster, inspecting its corpse. She poked at it with a piece of wood that she had picked up somewhere off the ground. She lifted one of the monster's tentacles and let it drop back down with a wet plop. The milky white flesh wiggled like jello in a cup. Then Egret stepped over another tentacle and walked back to where Angel and Buffy stood. Glass shards and splinters crunched under her shoes. 

Angel put the decorative sword that he still held onto a side table. He had ripped the weapon from a wall mounting, just minutes ago. The metal was soft, but the blade had been just sharp enough to cut two tentacles off during their fight. Buffy had ended the skirmish shortly after by impaling the creature with the broken stand of a floor lamp. The rod still protruded from the soggy body, a giant shashlik skewer.

Several frogs had crawled out from their hiding spots and were now assessing the destruction to the entrance hall, while Phyl had sunk down in a chair in a corner, mumbling something about stains on carpets that would never come out.

Lucky for most of the rugs, the fight had been over fast. After it had lost Buffy in the basement, the monster swam through a tunnel that connected the pond to the lake, crawled onto land and then crashed through the ground floor windows and into the foyer. It had mindlessly attacked every being in its path, but Buffy and Angel had been quick enough to end the spectacle before anyone had gotten seriously hurt. Except for some antiques that was.

Buffy looked over the mess the creature had left in its wake. "This hall's pretty beat up for a place that's impossible to attack," she observed.

"Not impossible. It's just not becoming to abuse the laws of hospitality." Egret tossed the jagged stick onto a pile of debris and wiped her hands off on her dress. 

"And the Lady?" Buffy asked.

"I'm sure she's fine. She’s probably just hiding. It would take more than that to…" Egret drifted off. "I hope you found what you were looking for in the Waters. The sooner you close the dimensional rifts, the better for all of us."

"Do you think this creature also came from one of those prison dimensions?" Buffy had seen a lot of ugly monsters in her time as a Slayer, but this mutant calamari even squicked her out.

"I'm certain," Egret confirmed. "It's a Yastigilian hound. And a large one at that. They are brutish demons that the Old Ones used to keep as pets. Your friend with the knife must have continued his cutting spree." 

"But why did this monster mollusk come here?" Buffy asked.

"You tell me."

Buffy closed her eyes, curled her fists, and uncurled them again. Her clothes and hair were still soaking wet, clinging to her skin. She was cold, and the visions had worn her out. Not half an hour ago, she had almost been killed by a car-sized squid. "Do you people always have to be this cryptic?" Buffy took a deep breath. "You know what this monster is. You know where it came from. You have a direct line to the Powers That Be. Just tell us what we need to know, so we can be on our way and clean up this mess. This guessing game might be fun for you, but it's getting old for me." Buffy tried to push her anger down, but it was all too much. 

Around them, the frogs had suddenly stopped their work and fallen silent, gawking over to the three of them.

"Could you give us some privacy?" Egret asked. 

Phyl heaved himself out of the chair like a man in mourning, and the frogs took their notebooks and brooms and dustpans and quietly dispersed.

Egret waited until the last one was gone. "I might be closer to the Powers than you are, but in this matter, my guess is as good as yours. I've told you everything I know for certain."

"I don't believe you. I saw you in the vision. I heard you and Whistler, talking about us." Buffy pointed at herself and Angel. "What do the Powers want? Because whatever their endgame is, it's not panning out." 

Angel perked up noticeably at that.  They hadn't talked about why she’d gone to the basement or what she’d seen, and Buffy wasn’t eager to share her reasons with him now.

"The Powers perceive time and space differently than you and me. Their endgame is something that has never even crossed our minds," Egret said appeasingly.

"But they interfere. The Powers meddle."

"It might seem like that, but the Powers rarely get involved with the fate of this world anymore." Egret made a pause, "It is true, though, that we receive orders from them from time to time."

"Like the visions, Angel's friends used to get?" Buffy asked.

Egret smiled and shook her head. "No. Our orders follow much broader objectives. They're part of a strategic agenda. Sometimes they take lifetimes to fulfill."

"And we’re part of that agenda without signing up? Lucky us." Buffy said, her voice rife with sarcasm.

Egret ignored the jibe. "Years ago, we received the instructions to make sure that the coming Slayer wouldn't die. At least not die as quickly as all the others before her." 

"And look how well that worked out." From the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Angel flinch.

"You're here now, are you not?" Egret raised an eyebrow. "But either way, this particular objective was never about you alone. It's about what comes after."

While Angel had stayed out of the conversation so far, he was getting more tense now. The last comment clearly didn't sit well with him. "So, ensuring that Buffy survives never mattered? But Whistler..."

"Whistler used to think Buffy had a pivotal role in saving this world and that you were the one who could get her there. But...not all of us were certain this was the right interpretation of our orders." Egret waited a moment before she spoke again. She picked up a small bronze figurine that had fallen to the floor when a side table had gotten smashed and placed it on a mantle. "Even if you are chosen, it's your choice alone what you make of that. Being a Slayer doesn't make you a savior by default. And I have yet to see a prophecy that couldn't go both ways. Destiny is only as good as the one who fulfills it."

Angel snorted. "Yeah, or not fulfills it at all." 

Egret had moved to pick up a second figurine, but halted at Angel's comment and straightened back up. She looked at him questioningly.

"Shanshu. I signed it away," Angel mumbled as he lowered his head. Suddenly seeming embarrassed. 

"You can't do that. Shanshu is not a thing to own. It's a parable." 

Angel jerked his head back up at that, his expression a strange mixture of hope and desperation.

Buffy felt increasingly uneasy. She had no idea what they were talking about.

"Shanshu is a tale of what can be," Egret continued. "But the truth of the matter is not everyone can be redeemed, regardless how hard they try. You can't just do good and survive and hope for the payout. It doesn’t work like that. There's no great accountant in the sky who keeps track of your deeds."

Angel nodded. The flash of emotion on his face receded, and his expression became empty and bleak. Almost as if he'd expected such an answer.  "Yeah, I figured it wasn't real."

"Shanshu? Of course, it was. It is real. In the end, though, it's too simple of a story. Redemption isn't something you earn. It's something you're granted. But not by higher beings." Egret put her hand on Angel's shoulder. "The Powers, they don't care about human morals. They have nothing to forgive."

Angel shifted awkwardly under the touch.

Egret held on tight another moment. She looked him straight in the eyes. Then she lowered her hand, and their eyes broke contact. 

Buffy hadn't understood half of what Angel and Egret had talked about, but somehow she felt she wouldn't like the rest of the story.

"So, what do we do now?" Angel asked. 

"Get to the javelin before the Sebatia does. If there are new rifts, the javelin will find them for you. Use the mace to close them and --" 

A meow resounded from the entrance. A tabby cat had sauntered into the front door. Tail lifted, it gingerly stepped around splinters, shards, and broken bits of furniture.

"Godspeed." With that, Egret turned away from Buffy and Angel and walked over to the cat. She picked the animal up, held it tight to her chest, and murmured quiet words into its fur. Then she went up the staircase and disappeared.

Buffy and Angel were left behind with a dead squid and piles of debris.

* * *

The news spread through the Lake House before Angel received the text message from Connor at noon. The murmurs, the hectic movements, the sideways glances carried the concern down the hallways and through the rooms.

The small tremors of the previous day had turned into a full earthquake this morning, catching scientists and rapid alert systems unawares. They had registered no movement in the tectonic plates, yet a rupture of serious magnitude had torn through LA. With all the structural damage that still strained the city, the destruction was considerable. 

They'd called in an earthquake, too, when LA had broken open and bled out the last time. Tremors in the earth. Exploding refineries. Gas leaks. Gangs and mobsters abusing the vulnerabilities of a city in chaos. Mass panic and riots. An accident in a large pharmaceutical plant that led to citywide hallucinations. All sightings of dragons and monsters, merely tricks of the mind. Young girls with swords and crossbows, teenagers who didn't take disaster seriously, and had played one too many rounds of violent computer games. It was the story that was still perpetuated.

People were easy to deceive.

Not here, though. At the Lake House, people were different.

Buffy felt the looks on her as she walked down the corridors. She heard the murmurs as she grabbed lunch in the winter garden, and words such as 'Slayer,' 'Vampire' and 'Apocalypse' drifted to her ears. Buffy tried to get flights out of Seattle and back to California for hours. She spent endless minutes in hotline waiting loops only to be dropped from the call without anyone ever picking up. And as the day progressed, it transpired that not only Long Beach was down, but all airports in the greater LA area.

Angel said nothing about all of this. Angel just glared. His expression slightly relaxed once he reached Connor and talked to Gunn, and both assured him that the Hyperion was still standing and that everyone was fine. But Angel didn't become more talkative. He gave one-word answers if he reacted at all. When Buffy tried to formulate a plan of action with him, Angel only paid attention half-heartedly. For someone who didn't know better, it must have seemed like he couldn't have cared less, but Buffy knew he was livid. 

The quieter Angel got, the angrier he was. Angel's silences could speak volumes, if you listened. 

It was afternoon when Buffy and Angel decided to take the car back to LA. They would wait a couple of hours and then drive through the night. Before they headed out, Buffy called Willow and Giles to tell them what she and Angel had discovered about the weapons. Her friends and the Watchers at Dunford could figure out how to get to Nepal and who was a good match for the javelin pick-up, while Buffy and Angel were stuck in traffic. They packed their bags. Buffy said goodbye to the nymphs, and they thanked Egret for her time and hospitality again. Buffy wasn't really sure the woman had helped all that much, but it seemed like the mature thing to do. When dusk settled, and Buffy finally walked out of the Lake House, she still felt like there was something amiss. Like she hadn't completed what she had initially come here for. 

When she opened the door of the Range Rover's passenger side, she heard a faint yell coming from the house. A croaky voice calling her name. 

The front door opened, and Phyl sprung outside. "Ms. Summers!" he called after Buffy, waving his webbed fingers to get her attention. "Ms. Summers, wait!" He hopped up to the car with several long strides. He was out of breath, his chest expanding rapidly under his velvet frock. Another small croak escaped his mouth. "Your guest present. I almost forgot!" 

Buffy let go of the handle, leaving the car door ajar. "A present? Thank you, but that's really not necessary. You were already more than welcoming."

The frog shook his head with vigor. "It's necessary. Of course, it is. Xenia compels it!" He dug deep into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a whole assortment of odds and ends. Some flashcards with notes, a piece of gum, three nickels and five dimes, a paperclip, and two pieces of red twine. His eyes brightened, and he returned everything to the pocket except for the strings. Then he took Buffy's hand in his, placed the twine inside her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. With his own hands, he held Buffy's hand closed tight. His skin felt cool and slick to the touch. "Here you go. Take care. The Lady wove them on the loom for you. They will hold when things hang by a thread." 

Buffy opened her palm back up and looked at the flimsy strings in her hand. "Are those friendship bracelets? Or good luck charms?" It was meant to be a joke more than anything else, but Phyl nodded eagerly at the question. 

"Of course, they are." 

"Wait, what -- that doesn't make sense."

"The Lady says not to cut them too soon." He winked at her as if they were thick as thieves. "The blue man will tell you when it's alright."

"Those weird theatre guys?"

Phyl shrugged. "How should I know? She's the Lady in the Lake. I merely run her household and organize her whole life."

Angel knocked on the window of the passenger side. They had to get going if they wanted to get back to LA by tomorrow night.

"We're late. Thank you again." Buffy shook Phyls clammy hand. "I'll bring something in return next time..."

"I'm sure you will. Or pay Xenia forward instead," Phyl said and waddled back to the house. Before he stepped inside, he turned around and waved at them once more. When the front door closed behind him, Angel and Buffy drove off from the property and onto the steep gravel road they’d come down two days prior. It seemed like weeks ago. 

  
  



	21. As For The Gift You Give Me...

**BOOK III: JOURNEY**

_Somewhere on Highway 5, WA, June 2nd, 2007_

They'd sat in silence for more than an hour, both staring at the dark and winding roads. The host on NPR was getting more and more aggravated about foreclosure rates, but not even Angel was paying attention to the expert's views on houses in bubbles anymore. 

Buffy's hands were itching to change the station and stop the waterfall of obscure words cascading from the speakers. Alt-Rock or ditzy Pop, even Country would've been fine. Yet she couldn't bring herself to bring it up. 

Angel was still in brood mode. His brows were furrowed. His hands held onto the steering wheel so tight that she imagined even his knuckles had turned a shade lighter under the strain. Switching the station in the hope of finding Beyoncé or AFI seemed all kinds of wrong. 

It had disconcerted her in the past, when he went to places she knew nothing about. Now the familiarity of it touched her. And it wasn't so strange - rummaging, turning and tossing things over in your head. When Buffy was younger, the notion of being alone with her thoughts, of not wanting to share, had seemed lonesome somehow. But she, too, had gotten older, and as the obligations piled on, it became clear to her that sharing emotions with others wasn't always the kindest thing to do. Sometimes the most compassionate act was holding them at bay. 

But they had to move past this now. They would never devise a proper plan if they didn't share their concerns about the mission.

Buffy made another try. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Angel's eyes briefly shifted over to her, then locked back onto the road. "Huh?"

"What's eating you, Gilbert Grape?"

"I don't think it's important."

"But I do. Something's bothering you."

Angel sighed. "It's hopeless. After those new earthquakes, it'll take years before they even consider rebuilding the Staples Center, if they rebuild at all. And without the Staples Center, the Kings won't come back to LA. It just isn't the same since they moved the franchise. It completely disrupted the team."

"What?!" 

"What what?! You said you wanted to talk about what's bothering me."

"I thought you were in an emotional crisis? Or angry?"

"Angry? I'm not angry." He let out another sound between a groan and a sigh, and his head dropped slightly forward. "What I am is tired. Tired of worrying. Tired of brooding. I don't want to think about all of this anymore. The mission. The choices. Destiny. Can I not just help people? Isn't that enough? It really doesn't need to go that deep."

It really didn't. Buffy bit her lower lip and gave Angel a sideways glance. "So, you passed your existential stage?" 

"Yeah, I finally made it out of my teens." His frown dissolved, and he smirked at her and a long dormant sensation briefly fluttered in Buffy's chest. 

"Do you want to change the station?" Angel asked.

"Oh, I'm fine." 

"You've been twitching in your seat for 20 miles."

Buffy's hand darted forward. She was pretty sure no one had ever flipped a station faster than her. When the sound of drums and guitars started strumming through the car, she felt actual physical relief.

Angel's smirk widened. 

And with the sound of music, a new ease flowed through the speakers and filled the car. Like a good bridge and a catchy chorus were all it took to change their rhythm. 

Cityscapes changed to lonesome highways, and tree-lined ridges turned into open planes.

They passed the first state line and were halfway through Oregon when they stopped for a bathroom break. The sweet and sticky smell of gasoline hung heavy in the air. Crickets chirped from a mustard-colored patch of grass. Moths danced around the dirty fluorescent lights above the gasoline pumps. 

A little bell chimed as Buffy opened the door to the small convenience store. The floor felt sticky under her shoes and with each step her soles made a light smacking sound. A 20-something with a pockmarked face eyed her from behind the counter. "Hi, could I get the keys to your restroom?" she asked.

"Only for customers," the young man answered mechanically and pointed at a hand-written sign on the wall behind him.

Buffy scanned the shelves and the fridges, grabbed a few cans, bags and boxes and put them down next to the cash register. Through the dusty window of the gas station, she could see Angel cleaning the windshield of the car. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him perform such a mundane task.

"Mam? Would you like anything else?" the clerk asked impatiently. He had already rung up all the items and had placed the keys to the restroom onto the counter.

Buffy shook her head, paid, and stuffed the cans and snacks into her bag.

When she returned to the car, Angel was walking up and down the gas pumps, stretching his arms over his head. "Whatever you say," Buffy called over to him, "there are perks to being a vampire. And never having to use a gas station restroom is definitely one of them."

"It's high on my pros list. I'm sure even the smell of the LA sewers is no match."

"And the disarray on top. Pulpy paper towels everywhere. Do you remember those dung beetle demons in the cave outside Sunnydale?" They had come across the nest sometime in her Senior year of high school. The odour of the demon's had been so intense, it had brought tears to their eyes.

Angel wavered slightly, as if he got sick just thinking about that particular episode again. "I burned my clothes afterward," he said.

"And I didn't know vampires had a gag reflex until that day." Buffy dug through her purse and pulled out the drinks and some chips. She wriggled the items in the air, and a piece of paper that had been stuck to a dewy can of Dr. Pepper sailed to the ground. "Here, I got you something, too. And don't give me that look. I'm not having them for the taste either. It's only for the sugar high. And the fizzy bubbles. Also, it's not a good road trip, if the car doesn't look like the floor of a downtown McDonald's on Saturday night afterwards." She opened the door of the Range Rover and climbed back inside.

"Didn't we just establish that messes make me uncomfortable?" Angel mused from the driver's side, sat down behind the wheel and reached his hand over. "You dropped something." His fingers lightly brushed against Buffy's hand, as he put a receipt, and two pieces of red string into her palm.

"Oh, crap!" Buffy exclaimed. "Those are our guest presents."

"Those are presents? I thought it was a hair tie."

"It's some sort of lucky charm. Stretch out your hand." Buffy grabbed Angel's arm and pulled it over further to her side. Then she took one of the strings and knotted it around his wrist before tying the other one around her own arm. "If anyone needs a charmy thing this week, it's definitely us."

Angel admired the band. "Well, it's a fine piece of twine. Very red." 

"I'm glad you like it. A frog and a ghost lady send their regards," Buffy said. "Just cut it off if it bugs you. I'm sure whatever luck that string holds, it won't nearly be enough."

"Did they tell you how it works?"

"Phyl just said that it will hold things together? What ever that means. They were all pretty big fans of the cryptic at that house."

Angel turned his hand over once more and lightly ran his fingers over the string. "Let's just keep it until this is over," he said with a contemplative voice. "We can cut it off together after." He pulled at the string to test the durability of the material, then he put the key into the ignition, and the Range Rover sprung back to life. They pulled away from the gas station and merged into a four-lane road. Traffic was already thinning out and when they had made it back onto the highway, Angel's eyes darted to his wrist again. He drummed his digits against the steering wheel. "There was actually something else I wanted to talk about."

Buffy had settled back into her seat and was going through her texts. "The power of charm bracelets or the magic that is Wayne Gretzky? Because we've already kinda exhausted the second topic," she quipped, only half listening. 

"I was gonna ask why you went back down to the well."

Buffy sunk a little lower in her seat. "Oh that…that was personal." She stuffed her phone into her bag and dug through her belongings with more emphasis, hoping Angel would be satisfied with the answer. Then she pulled out a can of Dr. Pepper and popped it open with a crack. "But how about you tell me about Shanshu?" She had almost forgotten that she wanted to ask Angel about that. Whistler had mentioned the word briefly in one of the visions, but Buffy hadn't paid it much mind until Angel and Egret started talking about Shanshu later. 

Angel gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Now, that's a really long and disappointing story." He turned his attention back on the highway, and the silence spread between them, almost physically pushed them apart. They weren't good at talking about the big things anymore. But then before the silence got unbearable, Angel cleared his throat "I'll tell you about it, if you tell me what you asked," he said quietly.

Great. Angel offering a grown-up solution to resolve the awkward. Buffy hesitated. She didn't want to talk it over. She didn't want to be mature and tell her ex that she dreamt about him and what that meant to her. But maybe, if they wanted to work together to solve this mess, she had to move past some issues as well. And he did deserver to know what might be heading his way. Buffy ripped open a bag of Cheetos and offered some to Angel. Angel shook his head. She took another sip of soda. Ran her finger along the edge of the can and started twisting at the metal ring until it ripped off. "I've been dreaming about your death," she finally confessed. "It's been going on for a while." A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the gruesome details of her nightmares. "I asked the Lady how to save you," Buffy whispered. "I asked her what it will take to save your life."

* * *

Buffy woke from her nap as they passed the California state line. Over the years, she'd learned to rest in uncomfortable positions and make the most out of any sleep she could get; still, this hadn't been a comfortable respite. All the talk of visions and prophecy had worn her out, and were followed by a jittery sleep with dreams of Angel and her reading tarot cards with Chester Cheetah in a run-down gas station. Buffy's mouth felt like a mole had died on her tongue, and she stretched her arms and wriggled in her seat, to ease the tension in her shoulders. 

A man on the radio crooned about vibrant skin and hair like lace. Alternative rock had been switched to adult contemporary.

"How long have I been out?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"About two and a half hours."

The road splayed out empty and dark in front of them. It was too late to return from somewhere and too early to head out.

"It's gonna be daybreak soon," Buffy said. "Maybe we should switch at the next gas station? We're in no man's land here, and I need another bathroom break. Also, we better stack up on that caffeine before I take over. I'll never manage to drive to LA otherwise."

"A place called Yreka is coming up. And yes, to the caffeine. It's not safe for me in a small, confined space with you when you're tired."

Buffy punched Angel's upper arm.

"Ouch. See. Proves my point."

"Oh, please. That didn't even--"

A deep thud resounded from the roof of the vehicle.

"What was that?" Angel asked.

"Gravel?"

"A bat?" Angel gleaned into the rearview mirror.

"That must have been a fat -- Angel! Watch out!"

A figure suddenly appeared in the middle of their lane. Its crouched brownish shape was blurry in the headlights. With a quick jerk on the steering wheel, Angel made the car swerve around the obstacle. The Range Rover drifted as Angel tried to regain control. He hit the brakes, and the car came to a halt in a 90-degree angle to the driving direction. 

Buffy braced on the glove box, muttering curses. "What was that? An animal?"

"Or a person?"

They gave each other a look. 

"Yeah…" Buffy unbuckled and started climbing over the console and into the back. "I'm getting us something pointy from the trunk. Or maybe there's a jack?" She'd just slid onto the backseat when the car was hit for a second time. The metal screeched and crunched. The Range Rover tilted slightly to one side, then fell back onto all four wheels. 

"How about we just get out of here?" Buffy asked.

Angel switched the engine on, backed up, and circled the car into the direction they'd been heading for. 

Before the Range Rover could properly accelerate, they got hit a third time. The car swerved. Something sharp pierced the roof in four, five, six places. It pecked at the windshield, then at the window on the driver's side. The glass broke into a spidery web of sticky pieces. Fragments hit Angel's face. A claw darted into the cabin and grabbed his left arm. Angel lost control, and the Ranger Rover lumbered onto the shoulder, where it hit the guard rail. The barrier broke, and they flew over the ledge of the ravine, like a mustang in a rodeo. The car overturned onto its roof and began sliding down the hill. Buffy tumbled through the interior. Angel's head lolled back and forth. At the bottom of the hill the Range Rover came to a halt with the uncomfortable sound of bending metal and crushed glass. 

Angel hung upside down in the driver's seat. "You okay?" he asked.

"Okay is a big word." Buffy shifted in the backseat and managed to turn her legs toward one of the windows. Then she kicked the glass. Once, twice, three times. The window cracked and peeled out of its pane.

"Can you get out?" Buffy slithered through the opening, trying not to cut herself on the shards. She stood up. The car was a crunched metal mess, reminiscent of a modern art installation. She walked around the car and tried to pull open the door on Angel's side. They needed to get out of here and fast. "I hope you still have Wolfram & Hart insurance because--" 

Something swooshed down onto Buffy from behind and pierced her shoulders with clawed feet. Buffy inhaled sharply as she stumbled and fell forward. Whatever had grabbed her was holding even tighter now. Buffy raised her hands to protect the back of her head and neck. From her position on the ground, she saw two giant birds swoop down onto the car and claw into its underbelly.

The creature above her still held on to her shoulders and flapped erratically with its wings. Buffy swung her fists at her attacker, ignoring the growing pain in her back and her shoulders. She hit at the bony feet and legs, but the creature remained unphased. Instead, it started flapping harder and pulled her through sand and gravel and away from the car. Buffy's shirt rode up, her bare skin dragging over the dirt. She howled in anger and pain. The bird tried to lift, but Buffy dug her heels into the ground, grabbed the monster's tail, and pulled it down as hard as she could.

Several large feathers ripped from the bird's backside. It screeched, lost its balance and toppled to the ground with Buffy, where they became one tangled ball of limbs and wings, skin and feathers. 

Whatever this creature was, it was easily as strong as her. Its talons were as sharp as daggers. Without weapons, Buffy would have to be quick if she wanted to stand a chance. She flung herself onto the beast, spun it around in the dirt, and got her hands on its neck. She twisted with all her strength, and with surprising ease and a sickening crunch, the neck bones of the creature broke. 

Buffy picked herself up and looked down at her attacker. The monster was covered in feathers, but did not resemble any animal she knew. The head was more of a human shape, with large black eyes, a small beaky nose, and a mouth with long canine teeth. Between the huge wings was an equally feather-covered torso with a waist and breasts. 

From somewhere in the distance, Angel called her name.

Buffy left the bird lying in the sand and ran back into the direction of the car. 

Angel met her halfway. He had dirt on his face, and his jacket was ripped in two places, but otherwise, he looked unharmed.

"I got one. You?" Buffy asked.

He nodded. "The bones snapped pretty easily. I killed one. The other took off after."

"You think there are more?"

He shrugged and eased out of his game face. "I don't know. But the car is totaled, and we're a bit too out in the open for my taste."

They stood in the middle of a field of unkempt grassland. A light breeze caressed the dried out blades and made them sway. As far as the eye could see, they were surrounded by open planes and cattle fences.

Angel looked up at the night-time sky. "I have about 90 minutes."

  
  



	22. ...Let It Be A Keepsake

Buffy and Angel entered the lobby of the first motel they came across in Yreka. The entrance hall was empty at this time of night except for the single employee at the reception desk. The air conditioner gave off a static hum, its settings tuned to a temperature just below comfortable. The lighting in the building was more suited for a morgue than a place that invited the weary traveler to rest. 

They had tried to clean up before going inside, but Buffy still hung back when they approached the man behind the counter. She knew she looked worse than Angel. An ocher layer of dust covered her clothes. Her knuckles were bruised, her hair was a matted mess, and her back stung. Running down the shoulder of Highway 5 for almost an hour hadn't made her more presentable either. It was better not to freak anyone out and have them call the cops at 4 a.m. in the morning.

The motel employee looked up from his laptop when he noticed them and quickly cut off a video with a laugh track. His faded yellow polo-shirt was at least a size too large and clung to his body like a burlap sack. The words "Messina Inn" were stitched over a pocket on the left side of his chest. His thinning gelled strands stuck to his head, resembling a bathing cap more than an actual haircut.

Angel shot a quick glance at Buffy over his shoulder before he started talking to the man in a low voice.

The man turned his attention to the laptop again and hacked away at the keyboard. "I can offer you a double for $52. You're late, but I still have to charge the whole night."

"That's alright," Angel said, tapping his wallet on the counter.

"Kingsize is fine?" The man glanced past Angel at Buffy and furrowed his brow. From the look on his face, he wasn't exactly sure what to think of them. But then he pulled up a clipboard from underneath the counter and moved it over towards Angel. Business was business. "You'll also need to fill in our guest form Mr...?"

Angel stared at the man as if he had asked the questions in pig Latin. He slowly picked up the pen.

The clerk held on to the clipboard, obviously waiting for Angel to reply. He squinted at Angel, took a step back

"Kane. It's Kane." Buffy moved up to the counter and flashed the man her most charming fiesta queen smile. "And kingsize is great. Thank you so much. It's been such a long drive. You wouldn't believe it." She rolled her eyes theatrically. "Weekend from hell with extended family, a flat tire in the middle of the night, Triple-A had us waiting on the side of the road forever, and then someone didn't want to change spots." She added a conspiratorial wink for good measure, then turned to Angel. "Here, honey, I can fill out the paperwork while you pay with your credit card. My purse is still in the car." Buffy smiled at the motel employee again and pulled the clipboard from his hands before he could object.

* * *

As they made their way through the parking lot, Buffy could feel Angel glaring at the back of her head from behind. They had almost reached her room, when his trudging slowed and then entirely stopped. 

"Kane?" 

The question came out more of a hiss than a whisper. In the last five minutes, Angel had gone from being overtaxed by simple questions to being strangely irritated at Buffy's cover-up.

"What did you want me to tell him? My purse and wallet are stuck in a car wreck, and we were already giving the guy major creeps." Buffy didn't even want to know what he thought their deal was. In the best-case scenario, it involved a consensual business exchange. "Can we also move this conversation inside? Impending sunrise and all." She inserted the key into the lock of room 106. A screw in the last digit was missing, and the brass number dangled upside down on the chipped white wood surface as Buffy pushed the door open. 

The smell of pine cone carpet cleaner welcomed them inside. The room was tidy enough, but the décor hadn't been updated in at least 15 years. The carpet was striped in blues and yellows, one of the walls had been painted in an acidy green and was adorned by black and white aerial photographs of random places in the Mediterranean. It was all of timeless tastelessness - the cheap motel cousin of the Cheesecake Factory.

Buffy dropped the key on a narrow side table. "Besides, the attack was definitely not a coincidence. And whoever is trying to get at us can easily threaten Joe Schmoe at the reception until he tells them we are here. They probably don't even need threats. 20 bucks might also do." 

"You think harpies are gonna stroll to the reception desk and ask for Buffy and Angel?" Angel was still glowering at her, and his lower lip pushed forward in a miffed pout. It would've been adorable if it wasn't so ridiculous.

"Well, maybe they have a falconer or a harpy fancier?"

Angel let out a sound that reminded Buffy of her aunt Arlene. "So, you wrote down Kane?"

"Well, that's what I said to the guy. So that's what I wrote." She grinned. "Anne and Christopher."

"Anne and Christopher Kane?" 

"It was the name on the fake ID you showed me at the airport. It's not my fault, it doesn't say Bruce Wayne. I left out both first names 'cause, well mine is a dead give-away, and yours is also a little rando."

"Random? It's not…" Angel made the huffy sound again.

"Well, have you ever met a Liam in LA? The only Liams I know are that guy from Love Actually and the one scruffy brother from Oasis." Buffy snickered and pushed her sneakers off her feet, trying not to bend down while she did so. Her back really did start to hurt now. "Anne and Christopher Kane," she said in an affected voice. "Ha! That almost sounds like it's a thing. Like real people. We should work on their back story. How about Anne and Christopher live in Santa Cruz. She's a child therapist, and he works in finance. They have a dalmatian called Apollo and like to throw dinner parties. You know the ones where you get small snacky crackers as appetizers."

Angel stared at her, mouth slightly ajar.

"Angel?"

"Ya?"

"Chill. I'm kidding. Just living the lie. You never had a secret identity as a P.I.? You're not very sleuthy." She made a goofy face. "Also, nobody we know has time for canapés and a Dalmatian is much too Disney for us."

The creases between Angel's eyebrows got even deeper. "I don't mind the dog. It's just. Why, do I have to work in finance? Not even I deserve that."

"Do you want to be the child therapist instead?" Buffy finally won the fight with her sneakers and carefully aligned them next to the wall with her foot. "Who came up with that alias anyway?" 

Angel hung his coat over the backrest of a chair and placed his phone and wallet on the table next to the keys. He sat down at the foot of the bed and put his face in his hands. The night must have worn him out more than he admitted. "Someone at Wolfram & Hart." His answer was almost inaudible.

"And they just made it up?" 

"What? No. Not exactly." Angel slowly raised his head, as if he was just now coming back to their conversation.

"Oh, so it's someone real? Shifty. So who is he? Who's Liam Kane?"

Angel went entirely still. He looked away from Buffy, his expression almost ashamed. "He is… Liam's dead."

"I guess that makes sense. If you want to borrow an identity, take it from someone who won't be upset about it." At first Buffy had wanted to say she was sorry to hear that, but she wasn't sure the reaction would be appropriate nor appreciated, and so she dropped the topic and busied herself with her jacket instead. But taking off the garment was more challenging than she'd expected. Moving her arms backward hurt, and now that the previous hour's tension began to ease, Buffy realized that the sting below her shoulders might be caused by more than just a scratch. After some struggling, she got the jacket off.

Behind her, Angel made a pained sound. "Your back."

Buffy walked over to a narrow mirror that hung next to the cloth rack. Her shirt was torn and dirty from riding up during the fight, and blood had seeped through the fabric in several spots. She carefully lifted the shirt at the hem. Most of the abrasions on her lower back were superficial, but her skin was coated in crusted blood, dust, and tiny bits of gravel. 

"Apparently, I brought a piece of highway with me as a keepsake." She let her shirt slide back down. "Don't worry. It's not that bad."

"You should still clean it up and dress it," Angel said. "How about you rinse it out, and I see what I can find outside?"

"Isn't the sun almost out?" 

"Still got a couple of minutes." He pushed himself up from the bed. 

Buffy nodded and stepped into the tiny bathroom. Blue waves were painted on white tiles, but the feeblish light-bulb above the sink left them with a yellow tint. Buffy undressed and inspected her body more closely. The fight had left more scrapes and bruises on her than she'd thought. Especially the claw-marks on her shoulders had gone deep. Sometimes it surprised her how much discomfort she could willfully ignore. Upholding a cheerful facade while hurting had become second nature to her in the early years of slaying, and now she often forgot to turn the act off. These abrasions would vanish like countless others before them. At least on the surface.

Buffy stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over her back. The pressure was low, and the stall filled with the light smell of chlorine as a brownish-red puddle collected at her feet. A sense of weariness washed over her, she didn't know she'd shoved away. She let herself sink under the surface of fatigue, then she pulled herself back up, turned off the faucet and got out. Buffy carefully dried her body off with a towel that had become thin and stiff by too many washing cycles. She put on her underwear, and ignored the sting as the clasp of her bra scraped over one of her wounds. Then she slid into pants, dusted her shirt off, and pulled it backward over her head so that the clean side covered the abrasions. Getting dressed had taken her twice as long as it normally would, but when she returned to the main room, resilient Buffy was back. 

Angel had also returned and was going through the contents of an auto first aid kit.

"Where did you get that from?" 

Angel just raised his eyebrows.

Buffy sat down next to him on the bed. "Did you at least leave a 'thank-you-note?"

He handed her a small tube and a soft white package. "Antiseptic cream and gauze," he said. Then he cut off strips of tape from a spool and stuck them to the nightstand.

Buffy watched him make the cuts with a methodical routine. How often had they done this? Patched themselves up. Patched their friends up. Patched each other up. She shifted in her position, pulled up one leg onto the mattress, and studied the cream's instructions and ingredients. She leaned slightly forward, and a stinging pain crisscrossed over her back.

"You don't like the type?" Angel asked hesitantly. "You probably don't have to do it. It could just be uncomfortable tonight."

Buffy shook her head. "No, I think it would be best to cover the scratches up. But…" She moved the package of gauze behind her back in an awkward fashion to make her point.

"Oh. Sorry. Of course. I can do it." Angel held out his hand so she could return the items to him. Then quickly pulled it back and curled his fingers into a fist. "If you want me to that is." He stretched his hand out his hand again. This time slower.

"I think that would be good. Thanks," Buffy mumbled. She carefully pulled her hair up and fastened the strands into a messy bun with a rubber band, turned her back towards Angel, and started pulling up her shirt.

Angel dug through the kit for something, held up several packages, read their contents, and put them back. Then he opened a bottle with a blue liquid, spread it in his palms, and rubbed his hands together. 

Buffy was still struggling with her top and had only rolled it halfway up her back.

It would never hold like this.

Neither of them moved. 

Buffy let out an annoyed groan.

"You know what? Let's not behave like teenage virgins about this. People in Europe hang out at public beaches in less clothes all the time." She grabbed her shirt at the hem again, pulled it up her torso without touching too much skin, slid it over her head and dropped it to the ground. 

Angel made a soft, hissing sound. 

It was probably just the reaction to the mess that was her back, but a small shallow part of Buffy was still glad she'd only packed decent bras. "I think I got most of the dirt off? Or am I still frosted?" 

The mattress slumped as Angel moved closer to her. "It actually looks slightly worse than I thought. You'll be fine, but we should clean it up some more. Let me know if it hurts."

Buffy bent forward and braced her hands on her thighs. Then she stopped moving, waiting for him to touch her, waiting for the pain to start.

Angel placed his palm on her shoulder blade. It was cool and soft and soothing, and for a moment, nothing hurt at all. Her senses tuned in on his touch. His skin on hers. She couldn't remember the last time they had been this close.

Then he took a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit, pulled the skin taut, and started picking dirt and small stones from the wounds on her shoulders and back. 

Buffy winced.

It went on like this for a while, pulling and picking, Buffy trying to ignore the sting, until Angel removed his hand at last. "I think I got most of it." He reached over the bed, grabbed a towel and quickly stuck its rim into the waistband of Buffy's jeans. Then he rinsed her skin off with distilled water.

"So, I can go into town tomorrow to see if there's a car rental place," Buffy said. "Hertz will probably not give us a second car until we return the old one, though. Should I tell them that demon bird ladies used it as a knife grinder?" 

Angel carefully dabbed the water off of Buffy's back. "That would be good."

"You think they will like that explanation?" 

Angel chuckled. "The rental part. Just tell them we'll pay for the other one." 

Buffy abruptly turned around to face Angel. The rash movement hurt more than she'd expected, and she winced again. "We'll pay for it?!" she asked aghast. "That was a brand new Range Rover. Car prices have kinda gone up since the 50s."

Angel dried off his hands and picked up the tube with ointment. "I'm aware. But Gunn and I, before we took down Wolfram & Hart, we might have accidentally cleared all their accounts." 

"You can't be serious!" Buffy covered her mouth with both hands, forgetting that she was using them to cover up." How much money is that?"

"Let's say buying a Range Rover doesn't give me a sleepless night. We already used most of it, though, to help people get out of LA and settle elsewhere."

"Are you telling me you're helping the helpless, and you took from the rich and are now giving it to the poor?!"

Angel shrugged. "It's the least we could do." 

"Holy cow. I'm glad you didn't tell the nymphs. They would've never let you leave that Lake House." Buffy turned away from Angel again. "If you're up for foreign investments, I also know this school for gifted youngsters that could do with a new donor."

"I'll see what we can do." Angel unscrewed the cap of the tube. "This might sting." His hand touched her back in a spot without abrasions, where he let it rest for a moment. It was even colder now. 

Then he lightly moved his fingers over the first graze. 

Buffy flinched. 

Angel stopped. 

"It's okay. I'm okay. I'll live," Buffy said hastily and willed her muscles to relax.

Angel slowly continued the motion, drawing his hand in gentle strokes over the scratches and cuts, barely touching her.

"How about you?" Buffy asked. "Do we also need to patch you up?"

"Nothing serious."

"Just a few flesh wounds?"

"I think something pierced my liver, but I don't really need that." Angel moved his hand in slow circles over Buffy's back, along her spine, back to her shoulder blades and across her neck. 

Buffy's skin prickled hot and cold at the same time. 

Angel pulled the straps of her bra up and quickly moved his hand underneath, spreading the rest of the cream on the thin skin before gently letting go of the straps again. He ripped the gauze packages open and taped pieces of the material over the more extensive rashes. When he had covered them all, he smoothed out the cotton one more time. His hand rested on Buffy's back.

He kept it in place.

For one second.

Two. 

A flash of heat crept from the base of Buffy's spine towards her neck. 

Goosebumps rose on her arms.

Angel took his hand down.

"Thanks," Buffy said and turned to face him again, this time more careful than before. Weariness was catching up with her again. "Those were some close calls today, huh? Of course, when you and I head out, we end up with the Titanic of road trips." She lifted her left arm and wiggled her hand. "These charms are definitely not working hard enough."

"It's not that bad."

"But only because you don't need your inner organs." The joke didn't come out as punny at Buffy had intended. Instead, the volume of her voice had decreased to almost a whisper.

"Well, that and..." 

They were even closer now than before. And it wasn't strange. It felt natural. If Buffy leaned forward, if she just reached out, it would be the easiest thing in the world to bridge the distance.

Angel's gaze was fixed on her face. His mouth slightly open, his eyes dark. 

Buffy's mouth went dry.

It was fifteen inches at the most. She slowly lifted her hand. 

An alarm rose from the desk like an angry bawl. Angel's cell-phone had started ringing with sudden vigor, its vibration resounding like a jack-hammer from the pressboard table.

Angel jerked his head towards the origin of the sound.

The phone kept ringing.

Buffy pulled her hand back, looked at the floor, and then quickly wrapped her arms around her body.

Angel got up. The call went to voicemail. He picked up the phone and studied the screen for what seemed like forever. 

A shiver crept up Buffy's back and shoulders. 

Then Angel sat back down on the bed, dialing a number. He lifted the phone to his ear, looking anywhere but at her. An object on the other side of bed caught his attention. "I also got you something else." Angel reached over to the other side of the mattress, grabbed the something he had left there, and handed it to Buffy. 

Buffy lifted the item - an extra large t-shirt. The fabric was still slightly damp. The whole front was covered with a print of three giant wolves howling at the full moon. Buffy's eyes went wide.

"Late night laundromat choices are limited?" Angel said. "It's also just for tonight."

Buffy nodded. Right.

Then Angel stretched across the bed again, an impish smile creeping over his lips. He dropped another much smaller shirt in Buffy's lap. This one plain grey with a v-neck. "This is for tomorrow. We both know you wouldn't be caught dead in the other one outside. And I also left 50 bucks in the car and in the laundry basket." Angel pressed more buttons on his phone, listened to the message again, and then began pressing more buttons - this time writing a text.

"Who called?" Buffy asked as she pulled the shirt with the wolves over her head.

"Spike. And I'm afraid it's not because he misses me."

  
  



	23. An Unsung Future

The ground was still shaking. 

It had been more than a day since the earthquake hit Los Angeles, but in its aftermath, little tremors kept spreading through the city like ripples on a lake. Hassian didn't know which cut had finally caused the earth to rise and shout that it was enough. That it couldn't stand the tension, that it couldn't bear the push and pull from the dimensions beyond the rifts. He'd used the knife in many places. Cutting a gate through to another plane was like opening a grab bag or gambling. You never knew what you got.

Another tremor. The papers in front of him shifted and shook. Creaks escaped from the furniture and the bricking. 

Valerius had closed the shop down, when Hassian had entered, quickly ushering him to the back room, making sure no one had seen the pale man with the antelope horns. As if the people of LA still cared about demons, and there was business to lose. No one did, and there was not. 

Hassian put the bills he'd examined down on the desk and pushed himself off with his foot. He spun in circles in the black office chair. Once. Twice. This chair must have been one of those expensive ergonomic ones. He studied the cages above the desk and on the shelves along the walls. Stainless steel and bronze and brass contraptions. They lined every available surface. Inside them, sitting on poles and swinging on ropes, were parakeets and canaries, jackdaws, finches, and doves. The birds were restless. Flapping their wings and chirping with high pitched voices. They could feel the tremors, too. They could sense what was coming, and they didn't want to be here when it did. 

Soft steps and breathless huffing announced the augur's return from the basement. He'd gone downstairs, rummaging and searching, retrieving whatever was necessary for the ritual. When he reappeared in the back room, he carried herbs, a dark brown jute bag, and a golden bowl. "There's a crack in the wall," he said, pointing at a jagged line that had sprung from the skirting and was stretching towards the ceiling. 

Hassian slowly rose from the office chair. "So?"

"Your rifts. If they cause another earthquake, the whole city will fall apart or burn to the ground." Valerius stepped up next to a brocade tapestry, moved the fabric, and revealed a passage to another chamber behind it. He gestured Hassian to follow.

"Ah, well, what is there to save here that hasn't already been torn down? Streets, streets, streets. More streets and Disneyland. Although I hear they're not doing so well either." 

"Friends of yours?" Valerius asked. 

Hassian just smiled and followed the augur into the hidden room.

Compared to the overstuffed back office, the ritual chamber was nearly empty. Painted entirely in black, the only adorations were a rectangular block of onyx in its center and a hand-drawn golden circle on the ground. A single bulb on the ceiling poured a cone of light onto both objects.

"You unleashed all kinds of old things from the shadows. Ygdrassilian Hounds. Darque Wurm. Harpyia. And the birds tell me there's a new evil in the sky."

Hassian's smile widened. He didn't do show and tell. Especially not under the current circumstances. They didn't have an army as large as they used to. As far as he was concerned, they didn't have an army at all. But no one needed to know that. Until they freed the Old Ones his only option was to find new allies who'd do the dirty work for him. It had been easy enough so far. Everyone wanted a chance to be on the Old Ones' good side when they returned. Valerius was no different.

"What did you do with them, anyway?" The augur was not letting up. He wanted some news he could spread.

Hassian decided to indulge him a little. "I send them on a quest to increase the tension. Opponents rarely make mistakes when they're well-rested and relaxed. In the best case scenario they manage to capture Angel or the Slayer and we can use them as bait. If not, oh well..."

The augur nodded like he was talking about war tactics every day. "But the Old Ones have yet to return."

"We need the javelin to find them. The Old Ones were imprisoned in deeper, darker places. I can’t just scratch the surface and hope to free them. You said the javelin would fall into my hands. What I need to know is when."

"Of course." Valerius seemed to have suddenly remembered his job. He placed the golden bowl on the block of onyx and threw the herbs inside. Then he emptied the contents of the jute bag on the ground. Body parts and entrails splattered across the golden circle with a wet splat. They looked human, but Hassian wasn't certain. Many demons had a similar makeup.

"So it is blood magic," Hassian observed. "Someone will have to pay the price for that."

"Someone already did." The augur smirked and shuffled to the far end of the room. 

Only now did Hassian notice the cage that stood in one of the corners, hidden in shadows and covered by a dark suede blanket. As Valerius stepped closer, something rattled on the inside. Valerius opened a cage door, and a claw darted forward. A ravenous growl emerged. A screech like a bird, but angry and monstrous. The augur stuck his arm into the cage, and a hawk-sized creature jumped onto his wrist. He carried it back to the cone of light.

The demon atop the augur's arm resembled a small vulture, but instead of eyes, there were only large gaping holes in its head. Its body was not covered in feathers, but in a slick oily coat. Long sharp teeth grew from both halves of its beak-like jaws. Hassian had rarely seen a beast as ugly as this one. Now that it had been carried closer, he could also make out its subtle repugnant odor. The creature smelled of death. 

"The knife and the mace have been secured?" Valerius asked nonchalantly as he tenderly streaked the creature's head. He was still prying.

Hassian threw him some more morsels. Well placed rumors could have their own effect in time. "Yes," he said. "The temple with the mace was discovered about a hundred years ago. Lucky for us, humans rarely shy away from disturbing hallowed grounds. Finding the cave with the knife took some more work. Your little warning system came in most handy, though. And it was worth it. They are magnificent weapons. Forged for annihilation."

The augur nodded knowingly, then shook his arm a little, and the bird-demon jumped to the ground, where it greedily flapped over the intestines. The creature ravened the body parts up in seconds, gorging and ripping into the flesh as if it hadn't been fed in days. "I understand. I understand. Let us look for the javelin then." Valerius mumbled as he watched the demon feed. When it had finished, the only erratic blood spatters remained. The augur called the creature back with strange cooing sounds. Like a good lap dog, the demon jumped onto the augur's arm and let itself be carried back to its cage. Valerius returned to Hassian, took the herbs from the bowl, and dispersed them over the splatter. The blood congealed with a hiss and formed strange rivulets and swirls.

Hassian had never seen this type of work. "There is no incantation?" he asked.

The augur snickered. "Am I human? Do I believe in gods? I don't need a prayer for this."

He did look human to Hassian, now that he'd mentioned it. Maybe shorter than the average male. Perhaps a bit sturdier. Sebassis' records had contained notes on several seers of this type, but not all of their names had been annotated with 'highly cooperative' and 'values money over morals.'

The augur leaned closer over the blood, his back bending at the hips like the hinges were rusted. "The javelin. I see it. It will come to you. That's inevitable at this point. It can't take more than a fortnight. A week more likely. The vampire will bring it to you." 

"What do you mean, he will bring it to me?" 

The augur bent deeper down, scrunching up his face and squinting his eyes. Then he started to chuckle. The low snicker turned into a loud laugh until he wheezed, and big tears rolled down his face. In its cage, the bird-demon screeched and rattled against the bars.

"What is it?! Speak up!"

"The vampire. He will make a deal with you to protect the woman. Not even to save his own hide." Valerius stared at the markings again to make sure once more that he was right. That he had read everything correctly. He wiped away the tears and somewhat collected himself. "He will agree to the terms you offer."

"I wasn't planning on making deals with Angel."

"Maybe not. But your situation will change."

"And even if I did, what makes you think he won't betray me?" Hassian asked. The mere idea of working with Angel was preposterous.

"It doesn't matter what he intends when he gives you the javelin," Valerius threw his hands up, and drops of spittle flew from his mouth. "He'll be dead by the end of the same night. Your man will strike him down. But in the end it's the Slayer who will be his undoing." Valerius tossed some more herbs on the ground. The blood blistered and hissed, but then the sizzle died down. The augur made a sniffling sound, and straightened his clothes. "You don't seem too surprised at that at least?" 

"No." Hassian exhaled slowly. Maybe there really was a chance, this would come to fruition. Valerius had never been wrong before. And Angel, even Angel could be bought for the right price. "I'm not surprised that Angel would risk his life for the Slayer. You know the Others paid a fortune to get him out of hell? They send their model pupils to Askahar. Made a deal with the devil to free one." Hassian rubbed his hands together, remembering when he'd first heard about what had happened back then. "And the Others knew why. He's not easily corrupted. Nothing so banal as status and wealth would tempt him. Nothing so vulgar. His mission is all that matters to him. It's quite a tale, if you ask me. I have to tell it to you some time. They're still talking about it in the depths of Acathla’s realm. Even the Silent Guards were astonished at how long Angel endured their attentions before he gave the Slayer up."

* * *

Buffy had left. 

Angel didn't know exactly when or how. He was a light sleeper with exceptional hearing, but she'd managed to leave him for a second time without making so much as a sound. When he woke up at noon, all he found was her note on the nightstand.

_Angel,  
_ _You look wiped.  
_ _Gonna get some breakfast &   
_ _arrange a ride.  
_ _Buffy_

  
That had been two hours ago, and Buffy had yet to return.

In the meantime, Angel did what he did best during the day in a cheap motel in the middle of nowhere. 

Absolutely nothing.

He had considered watching daytime television, but Angel wasn't that desperate yet. He just didn't get the appeal of Passions. Instead, Angel lay on the made-up bed and stared at the ceiling. The paint job on the walls wasn't particularly well executed. In some areas, the coat had been applied too thick; in others, it was streaky and uneven. A small speck of light danced across the plaster. There must have been a gap between the curtains somewhere. 

The chatter of human voices and the rattle of engines wafted into the room from the parking lot outside. People coming and going, families on vacation, salesmen on business-trips. A couple of bikers driving from Portland to Sacramento for a wedding, discussing whether his mother was more irritating than her dad's girlfriend and who would best the other in a catfight to the death. 

In his head, Angel went over all the information that they'd gathered in the last couple of days. He felt surprisingly calm, considering that earthquakes ruptured through LA, demon activity was on the rise, and two ancient weapons were still in the hands of Sebatian megalomaniacs.

When they returned Spike's call last night, the other vampire had given them a brief update on the situation.

The semblance of everyday life that had been reestablished in LA was dissolving fast. The US military and FEMA were urging citizens to leave, and rare demons were appearing all over the city. So far, the Hyperion crew had been able to keep them at bay, but Spike had also heard rumors that several squads of Slayers had been recalled. Those rumors were his actual reason to get in contact. Spike had wanted to give Buffy a heads up that the Slayers were closing ranks and taking charge. He didn't know who had ordered their return without notifying Buffy, but one thing was certain: The cavalry was coming.

Buffy had seethed at the news.

For a moment, Angel had worried she would start smashing the furniture in the motel room and further aggravate the wounds on her back. 

But she swallowed her anger, and when she had composed herself again, she had told him about the recent arguments in Scotland. "It's a power play," Buffy said. "I'm sure it's Kennedy and Hugh. They want to prove I'm suddenly not capable. They want me to have an audience when I fall."

Angel didn't doubt her instincts, but at the same time, her assessment baffled him. He'd always gotten the impression that the other Slayers looked up to Buffy. She was more than one of them. She was who they aspired to be. She was the Slayer who'd defeated giant snakes and hell gods by herself. They only ever spoke of her with respect, and he told her as much.

Buffy looked weary and surprisingly young then. "I thought you didn't talk to them about me," she murmured while glancing up with tired eyes.

"What makes you think that? I talk to them about you. I just don't tell them anything." Angel answered, suddenly keenly aware of how important it was to him that she knew he was on her side.

And it wasn't even a lie, far from it. Angel did talk to the other Slayers. He talked to them until they talked too much about Buffy and the victories he knew nothing about. Belize. Nigeria. Japan. Until the pride he felt for how far she'd come, developed a melancholic tinge, the sense of a road not taken. Angel didn't tell her anything about that, though. There was no use. Buffy had already felt better about the situation and admitted that it probably wasn't a ploy, but Kennedy's and Hugh's weird way of helping out.

Angel understood how it felt to expect betrayal. He told Buffy about Wolfram & Hart. Of having an entire office building working for you and against you at the same time. He told her how his friends had kicked him out of the team once. Granted, he'd fired them first, but the memory still stung - the knowledge that friendship only went so far.

They talked about leading and expectations and how everyone wanted them to make the difficult choices and then resented them for it. Questioning if those choices came too easy. If they'd become too hard and ruthless. 

Buffy did look a little harder around the edges. The softness of her teenage features had vanished, and so had the eager hopefulness that someday her life might take her into a more normal direction. She had seen the world, she had loved, and she'd lost, and she'd come out of more battles than she could count.

"But I don't have to tell you that," Buffy said, "You, of all people, understand best how it is to make those decisions."

And that was it. Why Angel felt calm. He didn't have to tell her either. Buffy got it. The severity of what they were dealing with. What their chances were. She didn't expect him to make all the choices. She didn't expect him to always take the lead. One of them would figure the next step out. 

A familiar trickle crept under his skin. He pushed himself up into a seated position and the hair on his neck stood up. His stomach became hollow, like he was hungry and felt too sated to eat at the same time. 

The door unlocked. The knob turned. Angel heard a measured, controlled breath from the other side. A triangle of light fell onto the carpet.

And for the next five seconds, the room vanished. The blanket underneath his hands dissolved. The sounds in the parking lot went silent. 

"I'm back," Buffy said. "I had someone tow the car and got us tickets out of here." 

Angel blinked, and the motel room reappeared.

Buffy pulled an envelope from a bag. "Sleeping compartment in a 120-foot ride with a diesel engine. That way we don't have to worry about the sunshine." Then she held up the rest of the shopping bags she was carrying. A large styrofoam cup swayed inside a bag from side to side.

Angel could smell the content through the dull tang of the plastic. 

"And I brought you lunch."

  
  



	24. Here Was The Beginning

Buffy had been ready to cut someone up. 

Her nerves were frayed.

Angel could tell from the twitching, from how she spun the stake in her hand, from the roll of her eyes. Angel was just glad he didn't have to intervene. As much as he wanted to help the hopeless in their plight, he wasn't eager to get staked because of one of Martin's fatuitous, overly detailed questions. And fortunately for him and everyone else in the house, the prodding discussions had ebbed down before Buffy had snapped.

Most of the Slayers and Watchers had called it a night by now and gone up to their rooms. A group of volunteers had headed out for one more patrol. The last few days had been long for all of them. Demons and monsters were sprouting across the city like weeds, and the earthquakes had left the remaining civilians terrified. In addition, the Slayer house had been run over by additional forces, and the involuntary proximity was already getting to the squads. Half the Brazilian team was back. As was Mexico City. Cleveland was on the way. They were sitting tight, waiting for an action plan that went beyond merely assembling and holding down the fort. 

And so when Buffy and Angel returned to LA, the first thing they'd encountered was a house full of people dying for answers. Where exactly they had been. What they had learned. What had taken them so long. Why Buffy had left without talking to the Slayers first. How many tentacles a Yastigilian Hound had and whether the creature resembled a squid or an octopus. The Slayers had leeched onto Buffy and Angel for the reassurance that someone had a plan, and that everything was going to be alright.

Under different circumstances Angel would have excused himself from this kind of interrogation, but the young Slayers and kid Watchers were already upset enough. They tried hard to be professional, but their emotions spilled out of them uncontrollably—pooling like quicksand around Buffy and him, pulling them down with their agitation. If Angel had split with Buffy, like he'd originally planned, he would have avoided the grilling. Instead, he'd walked her from Union Station all across downtown, when they couldn't get a cab. 

And to make sure of what exactly? That after 20 hours of being hauled up in a train together, they would have another hour to go over their plans? That she stayed safe? Angel glanced out of the living room window and into the dark yard that lay behind the house. He almost had to laugh out loud when the realization hit him like a wet slap. Not even two weeks had passed, and he was hooked again like the little sprat that he was. Ready to be reeled back in. Like a sucker. Ready to be...

"What's so funny?" Buffy asked as she piled papers into a manila folder and watched him through tired eyes. 

"Nothing." Angel shook his head and walked over to where Buffy stood behind the large dinner table. As usual, it was cluttered with dirty mugs, printed out reports from Slayer Headquarters and office supplies. "I should get going if I want to make it to the Hyperion before dawn. I really don't need to finish this night with a detour through the LA sewers. A whole day in a train cabin has filled my confinement gage for a while."

She nodded pensively and closed the folder.

"You're gonna be alright?" he asked. 

"There's gonna be more discussions tomorrow, but…," she shrugged, "... I'll cross that bridge when they make me. Same goes for all the other bridges we have lined up in this unfun version of Venice."

"I can call you tomorrow? And then we can go over the next steps?" Angel's feet suddenly felt heavy, and his brain couldn't muster the will to leave. He had to walk out of here, but he couldn't even take the first step.

Buffy clutched the folder to her chest. "Yes. Unless there is something else?" she said, seemingly noticing his hesitation.

Angel's gaze drifted to the books on the table. _Monstra et Fabulosae Creaturae._ Wesley's old copy was still at the Hyperion. It was a standard work for Watchers. 

"Angel, is there something else?"

Angel turned back at Buffy. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun, loose strands hanging down. Her big green eyes looked at him expectantly. She was waiting for him to make a move. Angel only had to tell her what had happened two years ago, and it would be easy to lay it all out. He had thought about it multiple times in the last days. "The thing is…"

"Yes?"

He'd thought about it yesterday, and last week and back then. Well …it's just..."

Buffy's expression slowly changed from tired to confused to concerned.

But then and now the words didn't want to form in Angel's mouth. It was like he had locked them up in the back of this mind and lost the key. The worried crease between Buffy's eyebrows grew deeper. He had to say something. "Violet told me what you did," Angel blurted out the next best thing that came to his mind.

"When did I do what?"

"After the Fall." 

Buffy scrunched up her nose as if he'd suggested the most ridiculous thing. "No, she didn't." 

Angel felt a stone drop to his stomach at Buffy's sudden flare of irritation, but he had to go with it now. "Well, before when we were here…and I just wanted to..."

"Vi doesn't know what I did and didn't do." Buffy took on a straighter stance and held the folder tighter—the thin cardboard bend in her arms. But as quickly as the annoyance had risen, it left Buffy again. She briefly looked out the window, chewed on her lower lip, then put the folder down on the table. "We go way back, but..." Buffy shrugged. "We've never been close enough for her to understand all that's happened...Anyway, right before the Fall, we heard rumors that something was going down in LA. It was just hours before everything went dark. I mean, when Wolfram & Hart shuts down, people kinda notice."

Angel hadn't intended to talk about this topic, but now that they were, he realized he had never considered how long it would take for news to travel. How long it would take for the assassination of the Circle to make waves. Or if anyone but the Senior Partners would even notice. In hindsight, it was hard to believe how mindless he had been. 

"It was early morning in Rome when we had the emergency meeting. I told everyone that we should send people here right away. Just in case, things got out of hand. I told them, you weren't in it to just teepee the mailbox, but that you would burn down the whole damn house." Buffy let her words sink in for a bit.

"Let me guess, that didn't make them more inclined to chip in?" 

"I think it's when I said 'and we better throw a Molotov cocktail in after' that I lost them."

Angel flinched.

Buffy chuckled. "Have you ever thrown one? I really want to add Molotovs to my repertoire. Anyway, you would've just loved it. We talked and talked and talked. About our organizational obligations. My motivations." She took in a long measured breath and exhaled again. The memory apparently still angered her. "As if they mattered. As if saving 10 million people on top wasn't motivation enough for all of us. And at some point I just had it, you know? I left them to their talking and voting, and I called Vi and told her to haul her ass over here. Was I overly dramatic? Obviously." She made big puppy-dog eyes, then immediately looked stern once again. "I was tired and fed up that my experience wasn't enough and so I figured eyewitnesses would change some minds. And since I never planned on coming over myself..."

Somehow that affirmation startled Angel more than it should have and he took a step back.

"You didn't think I would, did you? It's not..." Buffy looked at her feet, then back up at Angel. "If things were different, you and I, we would fight the same fights."

"But they're not," Angel conceded. He got it. It was all much more complicated than flying to LA and staking some bad guys.

"I wasn't part of your plan, and jumping into the fray that late would've just made me a liability."

"I wouldn't call having a Slayer on my side a liability."

"You had a Slayer on your side. Several as a matter of fact. But me getting stabbed by Ari Onassis would've killed the momentum."

"Archduke Sebassis was dead by then."

"Still. If you and I still f -- if we think alike, then I'm a game piece you don't want to play as a pawn." Buffy leaned back against the tabletop. "I'm also still a fan of that second line of defense. We had a good run so far, but not all our plans will work out. Someday we'll make an error in judgment, and then we'll need the other to bail us out."

Even if Angel had spend a hundred or a thousand days with her, there were still moments when he felt like he saw Buffy for the first time all over again. And instead of helping some girl, as Whistler had put it, Angel suddenly got an answer to a question he didn't even know he'd asked. It was a punch to the gut. And even as the punches got rarer and turned into something softer, a slight sting remained. A familiar ache that never vanished. 

"I don't know if the face you're making right now is a compliment or slightly insulting. I do actually think things through. I didn't survive all those years by serving sassy one-liners to undead guys."

"But, you do batter folks to death with them at times."

She stuck out her tongue at him. They both grinned. And then silence began to spread between them again. But it wasn't as strange and lonely as it had been in the cave or at the airport. It was a familiar quiet. The knowledge that you didn't need to explain. That someone understood.

"And really," Buffy said. "You never needed me to come and save you." She pushed one of the loose strands behind her ear. Her cheeks had taken on a rosey hue.

"I don't know about that." As far as Angel was concerned, she'd saved him more than anyone else had and in more ways than one.

"But I do. In all this time, we never were each other's footsteps. You never needed me to lift you up. The only thing we wanted from each other was --"

An earth-shattering smash tore through the entire house - a wrecking ball of pure destruction. The walls shook as if they were leaves, glass shattered, and the pained wail of bending metal rippled through the rooms. Screams of terror cut from the upper levels through to the ground floor.

It took Angel and Buffy a few seconds to steady themselves, then they darted out of the living room, into the hallway and toward the staircase. Seven Slayers, four Watchers, and two warlocks were already hurling down the steps, cursing and complaining and almost running them over. Rona had a cut on her forehead and was bleeding. Rowena and Kaori, only dressed in pajamas, had already picked up weapons and were heading for the front door. Buffy pulled a sword from an umbrella stand and tossed it to Angel, then she grabbed an ax from the hat rack and ran into the street after the other girls.

Angel waited for all the Slayers to leave, then headed out last. When he caught up with them in the street, they stood rooted in the spot, staring back at their house. A chunk of roofing had been ripped out, leaving a gaping hole where one of the upper story rooms had been. The gable was on fire. They craned their necks, searching for whatever had attacked the building. 

Then Angel heard it.

A deep and terrifying roar reverberated through the night, the leathery flapping of giant wings.

Angel turned upwards at the pitch-black sky. "Stake me now. How many of these flying lizards are there left?"

  
  



	25. The Wicked Monster Used To Sleep

Buffy ducked and rolled to the side as a stream of fire cut through the group. Yelps and screams mixed with hissing flames, the flapping of wings, and the dragon's roar. The smell of burning wood and sulfur stung in her nose. Her eyes got watery. She rubbed the tears away with her sleeve and saw the other Slayers grappling to get back on their feet. The swish of flying crossbow bolts cut through the air. Even in PJs and without shoes, none of the girls showed signs of backing down. 

Another hiss. An angry screech. One of the girls must have hit the target. 

Buffy had never encountered a dragon before, but it more or less matched all her expectations. Giant wings. Check. Scales. Check. Claws and horns and a long snout with dagger-sized teeth. Check. Check. Check. 

The dragon rose high into the air again then dove down towards them like a bird of prey hunting mice in a field.

Another bolt buzzed through the night. 

Someone threw an ax. 

Judging from the ear-piercing scream that followed, it, too, had struck the monster. It all went so fast. The dragon dove down again with increased speed, roared one more time, turned mid-flight, and suddenly took off. In its rage, it lashed out at the Slayer house once more and tore off the rest of what had been Rona's room. All that remained was a smoldering hole, a yawning mouth with wood beams sticking out the walls like broken, rotten teeth. 

"What the hell? Fuckin' slowworm! This is personal now!" Rona shouted after the creature and shook her fist at the flames.

The fire began to spread across the entire roof.

In the distance, sirens howled.

Although none of their neighbors had so much as stirred at the commotion, someone must have called armed forces for help. The people of LA had learned the lesson that curiosity killed the innocent bystander the hard way. These days they mostly opted to stay inside whenever things got even mildly exciting in the streets.

"Did anyone see where the dragon flew off to?" Rowena walked over to Buffy in her gym socks, trying to avoid the debris on the ground. The other Slayers were regrouping around them. Checking their weapons. Checking for injuries.

"That's east?" Martin squinted at the sky, pointing at the stars like he was a navigator on a sailboat. "My best guess would be downtown? The last three liked really high buildings." He looked over to Angel, beaming like a model pupil waiting for a pat on the head from his teacher. 

"How come you guys are much less freaked out by this than me?" Buffy asked. Clearly, they'd all encountered their share of monsters, but a dragon was still a dragon.

"There were more dragons here prior to this one. Angel killed two, and one hit the Aon Center." Martin smashed his hands together to visualize the fate of the giant reptile, but Angel abstained from further commenting on possible past heroics. Instead he walked over to the house to assess the damage. 

Among the Slayers, the rush of adrenaline was subsiding, and more practical worries set it. "What are we doing about the house?" "What are we doing about our weapons?" "What are we doing about our stuff?" Now that the fight was over, they were getting antsy. 

"It's definitely not a safe house anymore. More like life-threatening rattrap," Kaori said with disgust.

"We can't go back. The roof might collapse," someone else yelped.

Buffy sighed. Her neck felt stiff and her shoulder still hurt from the last fight. All she wanted to do was find a semi-comfortable place where she could curl up and sleep, but someone had to take over the reins. She went over the steps of the emergency protocol in her head. No one was missing. No one was severely injured. The perimeter was more or less safe—time to give people tasks. "Rona, Martin, you stay here until the fire department arrives. I trust nothing has Slayer Organization written all over it?"

"No, everything's Sigma Omega Beta - UCLA coed fraternity," Rona replied.

Buffy nodded and scanned the group. "Where's Cain? He should still cast that spell that makes the paperwork self-destruct." 

"What about the rest of us? Where do we go? We can't stay here," a Slayer called Maya asked. Her pink velour track suite was singed on one leg and two wide streaks of ash ran diagonally across her face. She'd already been wound up because she'd been ordered to leave Mexico City at a day's notice and now seemed utterly lost.

"You can stay at the Hyperion. Unless you have a second safe house?" Angel had returned from his impromptu building inspection and walked up to where Rowena and Buffy stood. 

They shook their heads. This was the only outpost the Slayer Organization had in California.

Angel addressed the other Slayers. "Call Connor and Gwen when you're ready. They can come pick you up if you don't have enough cars for everyone."

"So, we're moving back in?" Kaori piped.

Angel closed his eyes briefly, then let out a sigh. "Apparently."

"Sweet!"

"Wait, what?" Buffy looked from Kaori to Angel and back.

"You remember when we had to abandon the first safe house? How we said, we'd stay at a hotel for a couple nights?" Rona asked "It was more like six months. It's a long story, though, I can explain later if you like."

Buffy wasn't sure she really wanted to hear the whole tale. Definitely not now, when she had other problems at hand. "Alright then. Angel and I will start tracking Elliott. The rest of you try to take whatever equipment you can and then get to safety. Rowena, how about you make sure everyone arrives at the Hyperion? And try to contact the squad that's out and send them downtown to find us. We'll probably need backup."

Buffy went over her mental list again and checked some more boxes off. The Slayers seemed back in order. She looked at the sky and into the direction the dragon had flown off to, but she couldn't make anything out in the distance. If they were going dragon hunting, they'd need some supplies. Without giving it a second thought, Buffy walked back towards the burning safe house and stepped right through the front door. The smoke was already crawling down the staircase and spreading through the ground floor. Buffy grabbed to black garments from the clothes rack and reappeared outside with the two vests. She held the larger one out to Angel. "You want that?"

* * *

The closer they came towards downtown again, the more it became apparent to Buffy how much had actually changed in LA in just a couple of days. The city had been far from crowded, when they walked from Union Station to frat row earlier, but now the streets were utterly deserted. The army vehicles and FEMA buses were gone. The tinny loudspeaker announcements calling on people to assemble at the evacuation points and the low swooshing of rotor blades had disappeared. The only sound that remained was a static hiss that fizzed through the street canyons on every other block.

Buffy began to comprehend what the girls had been talking about. Why they had been so on edge. The entire city exuded the feel of a face-off at high noon. Only that this duel wasn't about capturing a bank robber, but about preventing an apocalypse.

Angel and Buffy had driven one of the Slayers' cars downtown, but left the vehicle somewhere on 11th street, when the number of accidental roadblocks became too taxing. The earthquake and the upsurge in demon attacks had left buildings and streets with new damage or worsened what had never been fixed in the first place. The earthquake would also be the news focus across the globe—another big one. Germany and Japan and Australia would offer pro forma disaster help, and the U.S. would decline. No one wanted to give more attention to the situation than it already got. Judging from the news they'd received in Europe the last time, it would have been impossible to deduce that anything supernatural was taking place before people stopped paying caring altogether. They would pray for LA in one week, and in the next, another disaster would be in everyone's focus. Buffy was still amazed at what people didn't see when they didn't want to. Sunnydale, CA, was everywhere.

They'd made it up to 5th street, when Angel pointed at a skyrise. "Let's try this one." 

"What makes you think we have a winner? Does the architecture appeal to dragons?"

"Nah..." Angel walked over to a charred longish object on the pavement and carefully tapped it with his foot.

Buffy followed, and then the sickly-sweet smell of burned bacon hit her.

"...but the dragon dropped some of its midnight snacks," he said.

Buffy was still looking up the glass and concrete tower when Angel made his way towards the backside of the building. She fell in step behind him until they reached a door with a red and white 'Maintenance'-sign.

Angel rapped on the door twice. Then he positioned himself flat on the wall next to the hinges. "Ask for Midas," he whispered.

A demon with orange skin and a face like a pancake opened the door before Buffy could object.

"Yes?" the demon asked, leering at her.

"Hi. I'm here to see Midas."

"Yes?" Saliva trickled down the demon's short pointy teeth. A skinny forked tongue darted out quickly between his lipless jaws.

"I'm here to offer my services?"

The demon's leer widened. 

Buffy shot Angel a quick glance. Then she took a step back.

With a single move, Angel spun around, grabbed the door, and slammed it into a demon's face.

The creature moaned and tumbled, taken aback by the attack. "You? What?"

"Hi. Don't look so disappointed. It's your lucky day; she's not here for you." Angel punched the demon in the face, and the creature fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Buffy knelt down next to the demon and raised her eyebrows at Angel. "Let me guess, Midas doesn't want to see you?"

"I ate his favorite legal council."

"Uh-huh?"

"Well not ate ate. Just you know…"

"Accidentally punctured his carotid with your teeth?"

"Something like that."

"Do you want to finish him?" Buffy asked, pointing at the unmoving body on the ground.

Angel knelt down, pulled a cable tie from one of his vest-pockets, and tightened it around the demon's wrists. "They're bankers. I'm still undecided whether they deserve to die." Then he stuck a strip of duct tape over the demon's mouth.

Buffy and Angel dragged the demon into the building behind them and left the creature on the floor.

The maintenance hallways that they found themselves in were dark and narrow. The only illumination came from green emergency lights that pointed custodians to the nearest exit. Every ten feet, a grey steel door led from the main hallway into obscure backrooms. Buffy and Angel made several wrong turns and almost got lost in the bland concrete maze before they found a maintenance elevator. It wasn't larger than a telephone booth, and with the two of them inside, it was already packed. The walls of the elevator had been scratched and were covered in black and white markings. It smelled like metal and industrial cleaner. Angel pushed the button for the top floor. The doors closed. The light in the cabin flickered. Something rumbled in the skyscraper's innards, the pulley sprang to life and hoisted them up.

Buffy's gaze wandered to the red digits on the display. 35th floor. 41st. 54th. They stopped at 73. With a light ping, the doors opened up. 

On the 73rd floor another hallway led them through the backrooms of what must have been a restaurant once. LA memorabilia covered the walls - pictures of old Hollywood blockbusters, a shelf with a fake Golden Globe and an Oscar, Jersey's of famous sports teams. Remnants of better times. 

Buffy stepped into the open dining area. No one had been here in a while. "So, where do you think is the exit?"

No answer. 

She spun around. 

Angel had fallen behind and was staring at a display case with faded pictures and ice skates.

"Angel?! Can you part from the GOAT for a second and focus on the dragon instead?"

Angel tore his gaze from the athletic still life and caught up with her.

Buffy opened the door to the staff's break room. At its far end wall, a glass door led to a rooftop terrace. She tried the handle and found the door unlocked. They stepped outside and onto the top tier of the building. 

From up here Buffy could see all of LA and the dark desert that it had become. There was nothing glitzy about the city anymore. Almost all the lights were out.

"The weather is changing," Angel noted. He was right, of course. The wind was picking up. Heavy clouds were billowing above them. The static tingle from the streets was increasing and made the shorter hairs on Buffy's head fly. There would be a storm soon.

The dragon, however, was nowhere in sight. 

Buffy climbed over the security railing of the terrace, carefully stepped forward towards the edge of the roof, and looked down. 

Nothing.

"How do you kill a dragon anyway?"

"You're asking this now?" Angel crouched down beside her.

"Well, I figured you wouldn't have come along without complaining if you didn't know. So?"

Angel made a stabbing motion at his right eye. "At least that's how I did it last time. I'm sure decapitation is also fine."

They spread out to opposite sides of the roof to check the rest of the perimeter. Every other step, they looked back at the other until Angel waved Buffy over. 

Something cracked in the night sky. Thunder growled. The storm was brewing.

Buffy peeked over the ledge. 

The dragon cowered on a lower tier of the building. Its head curled up to the side like a giant dog.

"It looks kinda cute sleeping there," she whispered.

Angel shot her an incredulous look."It tried to burn us alive less than an hour ago."

"You've got a point. It was a bad dragon. Bad, bad dragon. Let's kill it."

"I could distract it and then you…" Angel repeated the stabbing motion.

Buffy nodded.

They exchanged one last glance. 

Then Angel lifted his sword, stepped over the ledge and dropped down the 15ft to the next tier like it was no distance for a fall. He landed in front of the beast in a crouch and somersaulted a few feet forward to break the impact.

The dragon jerked its head up. Startled by Angel's sudden appearance, the monster snapped.  
  



	26. Soaring High Then Down They Glided

The dragon snapped at Angel, then recoiled. But it quickly recovered when it realized how small its attacker was and lashed out once more.

Angel moved backward and closer to the window side of the building. 

The dragon followed him, creeping forward in zigzag lines over the terrace. Snatching and snapping.

Angel parried the dragon’s fangs with his sword, turned around on his heel, and evaded another bite. He took several more steps back and ended up close to the edge of the platform. He had not much further to go.

Right that moment, Buffy jumped down from the higher tear, landed on the dragon's back, and quickly crawled up its scaly backside across its long neck and up to its head. The creature roared and tried to shake her off, but Buffy held tight, wrapped her legs around the neck, lifted her right arm, and with one push, impaled the dragon's eye with a dagger. 

The creature roared and twitched in a useless effort to throw her off. It huffed, and a stream of fire shot out of its nostrils.

Buffy cowered down just in time to avert the flames.

The dragon was solely focused on her now, huffing and snapping with its knife-sized teeth.

Angel used the distraction, lifted his sword, plunged forward, and drove the blade straight into the chest of the beast.

The dragon lifted up on its hind legs and screamed in agony, the wail sounding almost human. Then it slumped down, life fading fast from its body. It cowered on the ground and shivered in the throws of death.

Buffy slid off the creature’s back. "Well that was ea --" 

Before she could finish the sentence, an eerie rumble thundered through the air. A growl and grind from deep within the earth, so horrible it made both Buffy and Angel jump. Another earthquake hit LA. And for a few horrible seconds, the entire skyscraper was in sync with the tremors and swayed sickeningly from side to side. Buffy and Angel were grappling to hold their balance. From far below they heard the crush of a collapsing building and the wailing of car alarms that filled the air.

The dragon began to howl, as if it wanted to join the city's pitiful chorous. With its last bit of strength the creature heaved itself up and plunged towards the ledge of the terrace. 

Buffy dove out of its way. 

The dragon tore passed her, its massive body hitting Angel straight on. The dragon leaped off the building, it swerved, going up, going down, tumbling like a ship before it sinks. Then it dropped out of sight.

The building stopped swaying.

But Angel was gone.

Buffy thought she must have screamed, but no sound had left her mouth. She scrambled up and stumbled towards the ledge. Skitted forward on her knees. Searching frantically for Angel.

Then she saw him and her heart dropped.

Twenty feet below the top tier, Angel hung onto a slim ledge, the last dent on the front of the building, before the facade went straight down for a thousand feet. 

Buffy called his name. 

Angel craned his neck upward. His expression more confused, than marked by the actual fear of falling.

"Hang on. I'll get you," Buffy shouted.

Angel replied something that sounded like "Take your time," but Buffy couldn't make out the words for sure.

Her mind was already racing. Her breath became shallow. Her palms started to sweat. She searched the premise, hoping for a plan to form, for a stroke of genius to hit her. But the terrace was empty. Buffy gazed up towards the top floor. Right above her loomed the steel beam of a window cleaning crane. She patted down her vest. Went through the pockets. Holy water. She tossed the small vial away. Swiss army knife. Not now. Carabiner. Yes. Steel rope. Definitely. She lurched to the wall behind her, jumped at a narrow ledge and climbed back to the upper tier. Then she ran over to the base of the crane and scaled the construction like a cat. At the highest point, she attached the carabiner to the rope. Tested the hold and then wound the rope around the rig. 

They'd practiced similar maneuvers with the Slayers. They'd repelled from mountains. They'd parachuted out of helicopters, they'd climbed up castle walls. They'd gone through every special ops tactic they could get their hands on. But now that she needed them, the procedures were hazy in her mind, and Buffy just hoped that the steps that followed had been ingrained in her muscle memory. She fastened the carabiner to her vest and sent a small prayer to the Powers that it would hold. 

She would slowly let herself down. Attach Angel to the rope and then...She looked down again. 

Saw Angel trying to change his hold. 

His fingers losing grip. 

First one hand.

Then the other. 

And without giving it another thought, Buffy stood up, jumped down from the crane and over the edge of the building. Her body in a diving motion, she propelled herself after Angel. Buffy had always imagined that a moment like this would pass in slow-motion, that she would be able to see the terror on the other person's face, their hair and clothes flying as they fell. It wasn't like that. As she flew forward, there was only blackness around her. She was deaf and blind through a dive that could have only lasted a second, but felt like an eternity. Instinctively Buffy reached out her arms, stretched them as far as she could. And then her fingers were in reach of Angel’s shoulders and she grabbed him. Her hands wound in and around his vest. Angel’s arms encircled her back. The rope gave way for a few more feet until it came to its end with a massive and painful impact and they both got jerked back upward again.

The crane whined and creaked. 

Buffy and Angel swung against the building and hit the windows hard. 

Something crunched. 

The force of the blow drove all air out of Buffy's lungs. The vest cut into her flesh. A searing pain flashed through her entire body. Her legs, her arms and her back were on fire and tears shot to her eyes. It was the type of pain even a Slayer had to pay attention to, and for a moment she thought her whole body would just burn up and crumble. But then she managed to see through the red hot fog and she ordered her arms and legs to move again. Buffy aligned their bodies and wrapped her legs around Angel’s waist. They had practiced these types of holds as well in Slayer training. Buffy and Angel oscillating back and forth on the side of the building. They needed to get out of here and quick. This contraption wouldn't hold forever, and superhuman strength or not, Angel was twice Buffy's weight. Even she wouldn't be able to hang on to him until someone pulled them up. If someone found them at all.

"Angel? We need to get out of here. Angel?"

Angel slowly pulled his head back and his cheek grazed over hers. His expression still confused, like he'd just realized she was there. Their faces were only inches apart. He carefully tilted his head back and his gaze followed the length of the rope to the top. They swayed a little from side to side.

The crane groaned miserably.

"Through the glass?" Angel asked.

Buffy nodded. "I'm gonna hold on to you. You swing. When we come close to the window, I'll push us off for a bigger impact. When it breaks, I'll unhook us."

Angel's grip tightened around her back. Then he started moving his legs.

They swung back and forth. Once. Twice. They were in reach now. Buffy pulled up her legs and pushed them off of the window. Another swing. Each time she hit the glass, she pushed them off with more force, trying to make the material crack.

"Almost there!"

They gathered enough momentum, and as they swung towards the window for a fifth time, Buffy extended her legs towards the glass once more, and then she kicked. The pane shattered into a spiderweb of shards that still clung to each other, but on the next swing Buffy let their bodies hit the window and they broke the webbed glass panel and swung into the empty office behind it. Buffy unhooked the carabiner, and they dropped to the utility carpet with a thud - their arms and legs and bodies a tangled heap. Around them, shards of glass rained to the ground.

Buffy's face burrowed into Angel's shoulder, biting into the strap of the vest.

Angel's arms grasped her even tighter.

And then every sensation hit Buffy at once. Blood rushed to her head so quick she saw stars, adrenaline pumped erratically through her veins, white noise blocked her ears. Her heart beat in her chest like a rabbit that had just outrun a hunter. 

So close. So close. So close. 

The red hot pain flashed to the surface again. Her body hurt. Her neck, her shoulder joints, her shins, and thigh stung, but she couldn't yet discern what was what.

Angel's body had taken most of the last hit and he lay rigid and unmoving underneath her, feeling more like a stone statue than a man.

Buffy moved her right hand off the ground and slid it to the side of Angel's head, gently stroking his hair. The strands were wet and sticky. Blood was trickling down the back of his skull.

He shuddered under her touch.

And then the world came slowly back to her. The hammering in her chest began to slow down. Her breath stopped feeling like pins and needles. She shifted her face closer towards Angel's neck, inhaled, and let her head drop. Buffy rested there for another moment and then she finally managed to move. She pried the fingers of her left hand off of Angel's vest. She had held on so tight to him, they had cramped in place. She lifted her other hand from his head.

Angel's arms, too, finally started to relax and he moved them up and down her back as if he had to make sure she was still in one piece.

Buffy rolled over to the side and off of his chest. She came to rest on the floor, careful not to cut herself on the glass around them. Their shoulders lightly grazed each other.

"Angel?" Buffy said in a quiet voice. Her mouth was so dry, she was surprised she could even talk. "Can you do me a favor?" She turned her head over to his side.

Angel shifted to look at her.

She inhaled. Exhaled. "When I say 'you don't need much saving,' can you not take that as a challenge? Can you try not to die?"

Angel furrowed his brow. "I thought you'd appreciate it if I kept things interesting," he said softly and a sly smile crept up the corners of his mouth.

Buffy rolled her eyes, but it was hard to suppress her own smile from taking shape.

"... I will try not to die. Again."

She gave him another look.

"What? You want me to promise? We're in the wrong business for that." 

She turned her head away from Angel and stared at the ceiling with its white styrofoam covering and LED strip lights. "No, it's..." 

On the ground between them Angel's fingers wandered towards Buffy and softly grazed the back of her hand. "Thank you for saving me," he said. "Thank you."

She looked at him again. Blood was beginning to tickle down his forehead.

"Also that jump and window crash combo was really impressive." The sly smile returned to his face, now a little bit more hesitant.

"Glad to be of service." Buffy felt her own features soften and then she wrapped her fingers around his. "We did good, didn't we?"

"We did. We were good. Which is good because." He squeezed her hand. "I guess this isn't over yet."

"I guess it's not."

And then both their features shifted, and the corners of their mouths pulled up until they grinned at each other like fools and a soft laugh filled Buffy's chest. Their faces were only inches apart. They were so close, and Buffy could make out every detail of Angel's face. The disheveled hair. His high brow and his cheekbones. The small cuts. The laugh lines. The way his eyes sparkled with something she couldn't quite grasp. Like he was bursting to tell her about something absolutely amazing. Like they had a secret now. It was impossible to look anywhere else. If anywhere else existed at all.

Angel opened his lips slightly as if he was ready to tell her, but then they just turned into an even wider grin. He would look away any second. Break the moment, like he had done so many times before. But then he held her gaze. 

And underneath and deep down something inside of Buffy cracked. And a feeling like a soft breeze rose and spread within her until it had washed through her whole body. Buffy's heart started to beat a little faster again. It was a sensation she hadn't encountered in a very long time. And if she wasn't lying on an office floor, she would have said it almost felt like falling.

  
  



	27. Strangers At The Gates

Buffy's abilities as a Slayer had always encompassed more than the physical aspects. Clearly, superhuman strength, speed, and dexterity were important traits that differentiated a Chosen One from an average girl, but instinct was of equal importance. Maybe more so. The feel for the hunt, an awareness of danger, a sixth sense that whispered in a Slayer's ear when to be alert and when to be afraid.

Right now, Buffy didn't need a sixth sense. 

A sack of hammers could've picked up on the fact that something was terribly wrong.

The pavement and sidewalks had cracked in many places and small fires were licking through the remains of collapsed houses. The ground was shaking still, like the earth had come to life. Trembling in pain. Coiling up and stretching out. The earthquake that had rippled through LA while they fought atop the skyscraper must have been more severe than the tremors that hit the city two days ago.

There must have been civilians left in LA, but the earthquake hadn't driven them outside. Not a soul was in the streets, and even demons and monsters seemed to have holed up in their burrows and lairs. A bitter metallic tang filled Buffy's mouth. She could almost taste the tension. 

Something was about to break for good. 

When Buffy and Angel finally reached the Hyperion, Buffy could barely put a foot in front of the other. Fatigue had sucked the marrow from her bones, and the aftermath of their fall had left her hungover and hurting. 

Angel was right behind her. Slouching, dragging his feet. He was also done for.

Buffy leaned into the front door, pushed it open with the help of her bodyweight, and entered the foyer. 

For a second she thought she was in the wrong building.

There was no music. No chatter. No one stood around or mingled. Every individual who was in the Hyperion’s entrance hall was geared up, completing tasks, walking with a purpose. People and demons were carrying items through the lobby and sorting weapons. A blue-skinned demon with tiny horns on his forehead was conferring with Martin and Cain over scrolls they had spread out on a coffee table. Their faces solidified in concentration.

Angel stepped up next to Buffy and scanned the crowd. "Gwen?" he called in a brisk tone Buffy had never heard from him. The blue-skinned demon briefly looked up from the scrolls, then returned to the reading. No one else halted.

Gwen's head and shoulders popped up behind the counter. She had exchanged her colorful crop tops for dark utility clothes. If she was surprised by Angel’s sudden reappearance, she didn't let it on, but instead grabbed a clipboard and a pen and jogged over to where Buffy and Angel stood. 

"I heard you're back. Was about time," Gwen said unperturbed.

"Everything okay? How are we doing?"

"So far, so good. There was a serious increase in demon activity after the earthquake two days ago, but that quieted down after the second big one tonight. We don't really know what's going on yet, but we took every precaution. All protective charms are up. Anne and Beth have moved the civilians out. The only people here are those willing to get their heads smashed in. And me." She sighed dramatically at the last sentence. "Spike and Con are doing rounds. Gunn and the Slayers are going over squad assignments." She went over her clipboard, checking her notes, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything. "Do you wanna boss it or leave decisions with Gunn for now?"

Angel ran his hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his index finger. "Let's leave it as it is."

Gwen nodded. "Alright." She checked her clipboard once more. "I'm gonna wrap things up with weapons supplies and clothes. We still have to deck out six Slayers, and I can't find any combat boots in size 5. We never prepared for half their gear to burn." She gave Angel a look that made it clear she wasn't to blame for any of this, glanced briefly at Buffy, and then strolled back towards the counter.

Buffy was still trying to grasp the changes around her. The Hyperion had discarded its deep-fried-hubbub and Jeopardy-music front and had turned itself into a well-oiled machine. It had switched from Cantina party on Tatooine to rebel-base on Endor.

"After the onslaught of attacks in the last couple of years, we changed the organizational structure around. A lot of the folks who live at the Hyperion also help out.” Angel remarked a tad too nonchalantly. “Gunn and I are usually working on the strategy together, turns out Spike has a knack for reconnaissance.”

“And Gwen?” Buffy asked.

“She’s in charge of logistics. She’s much better at detailed planning than all of us.” A small smile was beginning to creep over his face. “I told you they don't need me." 

"Now A, you know that's a whole bucket full of crap," the sound of a female voice cut through the hall.

Buffy and Angel spun around.

Faith had sauntered in from the kitchen. Faith who looked tanned and relaxed. Not pale from lack of sleep and depressed. The total opposite of how she left Scotland more than two years ago. If someone had asked Buffy to describe her, she would've said Faith was glowing.

"I heard you guys needed some extra fists." Faith winked, giving Angel a look that Buffy was sure he would ignore. 

Instead, Angel crossed the space between them and flung his arms around Faith, all the while grinning like a doofus, like his prodigal girl had come home. Faith returned the hug enthusiastically and made small squealing sounds Buffy didn't know she could utter. They patted each other's backs, they swayed from side to side in a rocking motion. It wasn't a polite greeting. It was a real hug. Familiar. Comfortable. Happy. Faith and Angel started laughing, exchanging exuberant "Oh, my god!"-s and "How have you been?"-s.

Buffy felt like she’d dressed for a costume party, but then realized she’d been invited to a wedding. Blood drained from her head. She didn't think she'd ever seen either of them so excited to see anyone. So genuinely pleased. Buffy’s hands prickled. Then they got clammy. An hour ago, she thought that she and Angel had had a moment. That something had shifted. But now it was all Angel and Faith. Faith and Angel, and the masochistic part of Buffy’s brain started to play out a scene where the two moved from hugs and backslapping to an even tighter embrace. Where their eyes locked, and they got closer and closer and closer until... 

But nothing of that sort happened.

Angel didn't lean further forward. And Faith didn't dig her fingers into the hair on the nape of Angel’s neck. 

They let go of each other, and Faith turned towards Buffy, half-way hiding behind Angel, her expression almost bashful. "Hi B," she said, "it's good to see you, too."

It took Buffy a moment to compose herself and formulate an answer. "Faith. You're...are you okay?" It wasn't her finest, but she was glad she'd uttered a real sentence at all.

Buffy hadn't thought Faith was dead. Not really. Faith was tougher than that. But after the incident with the rogue Slayers at Dunford, Faith had quit the organization and never contacted them again. Buffy had understood Faith’s urge to disappear, yet it had bothered her that Faith wouldn't even let them know where she was. Send them a single sign of life. And then after a while, Buffy had stopped wondering where Faith might have gone. She had never considered that Faith would seek refuge with Angel. Now that seemed dumb. Robin and Faith weren't close anymore. Who else was there to turn to? Who understood what it was like to take a life? Or two? For the wrong reasons. For the right reasons. In self-defense. To save your friends.

"When did you get back?" Angel asked, his attention still fixed on Faith. He was suddenly much more awake than just minutes ago.

The light around Buffy got increasingly harsh and bright and the murmur of the people around her rose to a biting cacophony.

"Couple of hours ago. Gunn called and said that things were roughing up in LA again and that he wasn't certain you'd be back in time."

"I'm glad. You look good. How was Costa Rica?" Angel was still lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Good. Great. But you two look like you had even more fun than me." Faith eyed Buffy and Angel up, and Buffy quickly pulled on the front of her vest, trying to adjust it. Her clothes were torn and dirty. Her hands and face were bruised and scratched. There was dried blood on Angel's collar and his neck.

"You should bring me next time. The more, the merrier."

"I'll let you know when another dragon tries to roast us," Angel said.

"It's that bad, huh? But it makes sense then. SOHQ sending over the big guns and all. Rowena told me Hugh and Kennedy are on their way." Faith rolled her eyes and turned to Buffy. "It's still the same with them, isn't it? These two yappers never rest."

Buffy just shrugged. She was too tired. She'd been tired when they headed out, she was exhausted when they reached the Hyperion, and this surprise encounter was dragging her over the edge. Her body didn't feel like her own anymore. She couldn't deal with chipper Faith and excited Angel and Hugh and Kennedy's impending arrival. Not on top of everything else. She felt her composure slipping from her mental grasp and so before she said or did anything that she would regret in the morning, she made up some excuse about needing to check on the younger Slayers, turned on her heel and left Angel and Faith alone in the foyer.

* * *

Faith's gaze followed Buffy as she briskly walked up the steps to the second floor and disappeared in one of the hallways. "You haven't told her?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Told her what?" Angel asked.

Faith cocked her head and crossed her arms in front of her chest. He knew she knew he knew what she meant. There was no point in playing coy. 

"It wasn't the right time --"

Faith let out an annoyed groan. "It's not getting any righter. You gotta tell her. B's gonna be so pissed if she finds out because someone else slips up. I know I said I'd let you do your thing, but don't make me lie to her, alright? I owe her. I owe her almost as much as I owe you. And if we ever breach that topic, I'm not covering your ass." Faith gave him another stern look to make sure he understood she meant business.

Suddenly something cracked and rumbled outside. A scream echoed through the streets.

"I thought you killed the dragon?!" Faith shouted as she and Angel darted towards the main entrance. When they stopped in front of the Hyperion, Gwen, Martin, Cain, and Volchak were at their heels. The demon's blue skin had turned several shades darker, and his horns had grown further out of his head.

The air above Hyperion Avenue flitted. It changed colors like the wings of a dragonfly in the sunshine, from green to blue to silver and purple.

Angel took another couple of steps forward, looking for the origin of the scream, but no one was around.

Electric currents cracked ten feet above the pavement. Small lightnings. The smell of burnt hair and melted plastic crept into Angel's nostrils. Then bubbles rose from the air as if it was a boiling soup, and the fabric of space extended towards him in a concave shape.

Angel evaded the dent, tripped over a piece of debris, and landed on his backside. The bubble retracted again. Angel scrambled towards the entrance of the Hyperion.

Faith and Volchak took on a fighting stance.

A deep sigh shuddered through the streets, and with a swishing sound, a rift appeared in thin air. The sigh rose to a howl.

Faith helped Angel back up. 

A large hoofed foot stretched out of the rift, a long leg, a giant body.

A deer, almost twice the height of a man, trotted from the opening. But where fur should have covered the torso and the extremities, there were only bones. Skin and sinews hung loosely from the walking skeleton. The vertebras of the deer's spine stood out in a humped ridge. 

In the middle of its back sat two cloaked figures.

The beast tilted its head, the air bristled, the smell of something old and mulchy wavered towards Angel.

Volchak handed Angel an ax. Faith lifted her fists higher. Gwen generated a ball of electricity in the palm of her right hand.

The rider in the front slowly lifted one arm and pulled down their hood. "You can lower your weapons. We're not a danger. Well, not to you, at least."

Angel almost toppled over backward again. "Fred?!" he called in disbelief.

"I told you I was not a damsel in need of saving."

  
  



	28. First Find A Grave

Willow zipped her windbreaker up and pulled the hood down until it almost covered her eyes. It had been raining non-stop since Satsu and she had arrived in Kathmandu two days ago. They'd driven further inland since, but the dreary rain clouds trailed them on their journey. Here at the foot of the Annapurna mountains, they'd met up with Mansing, a local spirit-guide, and together, they'd hiked off the beaten paths, leaving the throngs of adventure tourists and millionaire mountain climbers behind. 

Although they'd been hiking higher and higher up the mountains all day, they were still well below the tree line, the forest-covered slope falling down steep next to their track. The rocky path had gotten slippery due to the rain, but their guide didn't seem to mind, scaling the mountainside, as if it were a big city sidewalk he had all to himself. 

Willow took another step, and a handful of small rocks slipped away under her shoes. She lost her footing, flailing her arms to find balance until a firm grasp steadied her again. 

Satsu gave her an assuring smile and held her hand in place for a moment longer. "Careful," she said. Then she turned her attention back to the road in front and to Mansing, who was now several yards ahead of them. "If I didn't know better, I'd say we were going in circles." She wiped raindrops off of her forehead. 

"We might as well be," Willow answered. "As far as I understood, our guide doesn't know the exact way either. The spirits of his ancestors lead him."

"Well, they seem pretty confused about the directions then." Satsu had made it clear before they'd set out that neither this vague mission nor their guide's capabilities convinced her.

"Some of the ancestors have been dead for a long time. Their hold on this world is fading, but Oz said there's no one better than Mansing. We'll find the track...sooner or later." Willow carefully stepped forward again.

They had almost caught up with Mansing, when the man suddenly veered right and ducked into the underbrush. Willow and Satsu followed, moving wet leaves and vines out of the way with their hands. Even though the canopy of the forest blocked most of the rain down here, a misty drizzle still enshrouded them. Light barely made it to the ground, the damp silence broken only by the sounds of their footsteps and birdsong echoing between the treetops. It was midday, but between the trees, time stood still. In the distance, they heard the thundering rush of water.

The three of them continued their way through the thicket, stopping only when Mansing had to verify their direction. Sometimes it took a discerning glance to do so; at other times, he had to sit and meditate on how to continue forward or make a small offering to the ancestral spirits.

Grandma and grandpa were fickle in their goodwill.

"Do you think Buffy is back in LA by now?" Satsu asked when Mansing sat down on the forest floor once again. "Maybe they already managed to get the other weapons?"

"Probably. She and Angel aren't easily distracted once they have a goal. Unless...well..." Willow pressed her lips together before she could let anything slip.

"What is it? Spill!" Satsu was suddenly much more alert, following even the smallest of Willow's reactions. Then a knowing look settled on her face. "Unless..they distract each other?" A knowing gleam spread across the Slayer's face.

"I didn't say that!"

"No, of course not. You didn't have to."

Mansing got back up. "This way," he said and pointed east.

After another hour of walking, the group came out at a clearing, and Mansing let out a satisfied grunt. On the opposite side of the glade, a waterfall broke over the mountainside and pooled in a shallow basin. 

"We're here," Mansing said and stepped closer to the water. Willow and Satsu followed the man, their gaze slightly distracted by their reflections in the clear water.

The sound of movements in the woods suddenly came nearer. A rattle sprung up in the forest behind them, sticks and branches broke. Birds flew up and brawled out their displeasure at being disturbed. 

A herd of deer crashed from the underbrush and rushed through the clearing, circumventing the three strangers, skipping through the shallow end of the pond. Before the two women and their guide could step out of the way, the animals had already passed them by. A young buck at the rear of the group halted in the water, its coat glimmering ember red in the sunlight. The animal stared at Willow, as if it wondered what had brought her here. Then the deer cocked its head to a sound only a creature of the forest could hear and dashed after the others into the undergrowth again. 

Willow's gaze followed the animals to where they'd disappeared. She tried to readjust her jacket once more. It was getting colder.

"Ms. Rosenberg." Mansing pointed at a waterfall. "Ms. Rosenberg. The door. The spirits say it's here." 

Together they stepped through the cascade of water, and then they saw it. Behind the waterfall, a ledge and a depression in the moss-covered wall became visible—an entrance of sorts.

Willow rested her hands against the rock and murmured a spell, trying to impose her will on the unyielding stone.

_Open for me._

With a crunching noise, the door moved over. It was cold and clammy inside the cave. The groundwater that fed into the waterfall leaked through the soil. 

Willow spoke another hushed spell, and a small orb of light appeared above their heads and lit the way. "This should do for now," she said.

The space that opened up in front of them was more long than wide. Roots had snaked their way through the soft ceiling, almost brushing their heads.

Willow and Satsu crossed the cave with steady steps until they reached a curved stone door. This one also closed, but seemingly unwithered by time.

Mansing, who had fallen behind, halted. "I'm sorry. I can't go further." He shook his head, feverishly. Then he pointed to the carvings above the archway. Old letters broken up in the middle by three triangles intertwined. "This is bad. Bad magic."

"Do you know what it says?" Satsu asked.

Mansing shook his head again, then focused on the wall behind Willow and Satsu.

Willow turned. There was nothing there.

Mansing's lips moved without making a sound and then a shudder of understanding scampered across his features. "This is not a house of worship. This is the house of death," Mansing said, listening intently, considering how to translate the last part. "Here lies Hal Han. A deviator from the Powers' path, brought balance to the soul at last."

Buffy had told Willow about the inscriptions in the cave underneath LA. She had told Willow about the translations O had offered; still, Willow wasn't confident she understood the meaning, even now that Mansing had given them a more precise translation. After going over the glyphs and translations repeatedly and not coming to a conclusive answer, Giles had suggested that Willow should go find the javelin. She was the only one in their circle who had ever tried herself at soul-magic, the only relation they had to souls at all, and maybe that was enough. And if everything else fell short, maybe her usual magic could break the gravesite open. Satsu had been chosen to go with her as back-up.

Willow glanced up at the inscriptions again, took a breath, and rested her hands against the damp rock. A slight feeling of unease spread from her fingers and up her arms. As before she tried to impose her will on the lifeless object.

 _Open for me._ Willow whispered in her mind.

Nothing happened.

She took a few steps back and tried it again with a different incantation.

Purple sparks bristled under her hands. The stone didn't budge.

She tried a third time. 

Still, no results.

In the distance, Willow heard a ringing noise, like a windchime. A breeze picked up and tousled her hair. She felt eyes on her body. A cold sweat spread over her back. Like the spirits Mansing had followed, the ghosts of the past hovered inside the cave, contemplating, judging her actions, reading her mind. They didn't have a shape or a name, but she felt their soft touch as they tried to get closer to her.

A shiver ran down Willow's spine as strange words formed in her head. Words that were not her own. "Have you made peace with what you've done?" 

Willow tried to shut the voice out of her mind and focused on her own thoughts instead. "Can we pass? We really need to pass." Her thoughts became more agitated. "Can you open the door? Open the door. Open the door!" She screamed inside her head.

The breeze died down. Willow felt the ghosts inching still closer. Their spindly fingers dangled in her hair. They reached for her arms and grasped at her hands. Their cold bodies pressed against her back.

"There's always a price," the voice continued.

Willow's blood turned cold. Ice shards shot through her veins. Her heart froze.

She turned her head and gazed over her shoulder. No one was with them in the cave, and Satsu only looked confused. But Mansing, Mansing, was absolutely terrified. He had retreated from where Willow stood, shaking, his face distorted. He had flattened himself onto the opposing rock wall, trying to blend into the surroundings, trying to hide from what Willow only felt, but couldn't see.

The stone under Willow's hands warmed up. "Your lack of foresight has cost you love. The price for a soul is a soul, and that is enough," the voice whispered at last, and then, with a painful creak and crunch, the stone moved. A draft shot from the opening and the earth groaned, as if it had been woken from a centuries-long slumber.

Satsu's face was grim as she pulled out her wakizashi sword. "Do you wanna go inside?"

Willow nodded. Then she turned to Mansing. "Do not leave us here. Do you hear me? Do not leave. We will be back soon."

The man, still crouched to the wall, said nothing in return. 

Willow and Satsu stepped into the cave. 

Inside the second chamber, the air was suddenly dry as the desert. The cold humidity of the forest had vanished. The walls were dark and smooth and emitted a light green glow. 

They scanned their surroundings, Satsu taking on a defensive stance, ready to fight back any possible attacker. But the room was empty except for a simple structure in its middle. On a small pedestal stood a stone sarcophagus simple in its design, displaying no remnants of paint or any engravings. 

The two women stepped closer, and Satsu kicked at an oblong object on the ground. A rusty knife, almost disintegrated.

"Are we sure we want to open this?" Satsu asked, pointing at the stone coffin.

Willow nodded.

"Alright, then. Let's hope that the curse of the mummy doesn't strike us down." Satsu leaned against the lit and pushed. At first, the stone plate moved slowly, but then it gave way and revealed what lay below. Satsu frowned. "Is that him? I thought we were only looking for one warrior? Did we pick the wrong cave?"

The bones inside the sarcophagus were far from well preserved. Most fiber and fabrics had decomposed, many bone fragments were brittle or had already fallen to dust, but the two skulls were clearly discernible. 

On top of the bones lay the weapon they'd come here for - a javelin the color of the night. The rod was so dark it seemed to swallow the light around it, at the javelin's top sat an ivory spike that looked like a giant tooth. It was pristine except for the coat of dust that covered it.

Willow hovered her hand over the weapon. Then she lightly touched the bones underneath it and moved them, careful not to disturb the hold of two hands intertwined. "No," she said with a solemn voice. "I think we came to exactly the right place." Willow rested her hand on the bones, and for a brief moment, she could feel it pass to her through the ages - a grief so strong that it made you want to die. "I'm pretty sure I know who's buried here. The question is, whose bones did Buffy find beneath LA."

"Do you think the weapon is safe to take?" Satsu asked.

"Buffy said nothing happened when she picked up the knife, but you never know." Willow mumbled another spell, and a weak force field appeared around them. "That should cushion any possible blows."

Satsu slowly moved her hand over the sarcophagus, hovered over the javelin like Willow had before her, and then quickly grabbed the weapon. Some of the old bones broke, and a wispy cloud of dust rose into the air.

"No poison darts," Satsu said.

Willow looked up and around the cave. "Doesn't seem like it."

"Great, then let's get out of here. It's gonna take us days to get to LA."

  
  



	29. One More Way To Help

For the hundredth time in the past two weeks, Angel tried to make sense of the situation. So far, with limited success. He sat hunched in his office chair, halfway hiding behind the stacks of books and scrolls that had been placed on the large mahogany table by someone on the team. His midday coffee had left brown rings inside his mug, but none of the blots wanted to reveal greater answers about the universe or the future to him.

Fred had explained it. And Violet had explained it. And then Fred had tried again. Angel still didn't think he understood completely. 

Violet and Fred were back. Or Violet and Illyria. Angel wasn't sure how much control his friend had regained over her body after Hassian had stabbed her with the knife. Or how it was possible at all that Fred's consciousness had resurfaced. It was so different from when the Sebatia had cut himself. The incision had hurt Illyria, and weakened the demon's hold on Fred's body, but it hadn't killed the Old One. Fred looked like Fred. She talked like Fred. She smelled like Fred. But underneath all the fredness, Angel could sense something old within. It had been pushed deeper down, but its essence still lingered. It was not unlike his own demon now.

And it wasn't that Angel didn't believe what he had witnessed. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the intricacies just yet. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. He turned the mug in his hand. Perhaps he should go for another cup. Last night Fred and Violet had apparated on the back of a deer skeleton in the middle of Hyperion Avenue. According to Fred, their return wasn't a random occurrence; they hadn't just fallen from the sky. Fred had calculated the exact spot of their arrival. The border between dimensions was so brittle that Illyria's power had sufficed to create a gate. The existing rifts had stretched the fabric of the world so thin that you could pass through, if you just knew how. Fred had illustrated the physics behind the dimensional jump with whiteboard drawings, a laser pointer, and cellophane wrap, but afterward, Angel understood the mechanics even less. For now, it was enough for him that Fred knew how they'd gotten back. Especially after he'd suggested that it might have been a lucky coincidence and Fred had replied that she could show him a really lucky coincidence if he asked for it. Illyria definitely wasn't all gone. 

But while Fred was talkative and gleaming in her victory of mind over matter, Violet said little, and had barely corroborated the stories of the other woman. They'd been gone for a while, yes. How long she didn't know. Longer than a week. Probably less than a year. Who knew. The place they'd been to, she really didn't want to talk about that either. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Violet also didn't want to talk to the other Slayers, ignored their questions and all mentions of debriefs, and when the other girls came too close, she evaded them and wound her way out of their teary hugs. 

Both Fred and Violet were resting now, while Gunn and Spike were figuring out a spot where they could hide the undead deer. For all its scary appearances, it was a surprisingly docile creature so far.

Angel hoisted himself out of the chair, his body like a bag of wet sand, and exited the office. The third cup of coffee was still not doing the trick and had barely lifted him out of his slump. He wondered whether this was what it would feel like if the years ever caught up. Angel carefully touched the back of his head. The laceration from the window crash, at least, had closed. Vampire physiology was still working in some regards.

In contrast to Angel, the entrance hall was wide awake. Angel could smell the tension shrouding the bodies around him. The Slayers were pacing the hallways like big cats in cages, Martin and Cain hadn't dropped their phones in hours. Talking to Giles and Tayo, constantly conferring, trying to figure out how to stall the coming destruction. Willow had texted Angel this afternoon that she and Satsu were on their way to LA with the javelin, and for a moment, the news had eased everyone's apprehension. Once they had the javelin in their hands, they could find the rifts. And as soon as they'd recaptured the mace, they could close them up, too.

Angel was halfway through the entrance hall and on the way to the kitchen when he phone on the front desk rang. He glanced at the counter, checking if someone from the team was around to pick up. He groaned. Of course not. Phone calls usually meant other people's problems, and as long as the caffeine hadn't kicked in, Angel didn't think he could deal with new trouble. Maybe if he walked really slowly, he would miss the call. The phone rang again. Angel grabbed the receiver. "Hello?" he grumbled.

"Hello. Who's this?" a man on the other line asked. The voice didn't sound familiar.

"This is Angel? You reached the Hyperion." Angel thought he'd heard a slight intake of breath. Or the connection had broken off—either way, the man didn't say anything for a heartbeat or two. Angel was about to hang up, but then the man spoke again.

"Hi. This is Jake. Jake Mara. I'm —"

The words hit Angel like a punch in the face. His teeth rattled. "I know who you are," he said slowly.

Jake Mara let out an awkward little laugh. "Oh, really? That's funny...because I know who you are. Small world."

Another moment of silence followed—the line crackled with static sounds. Angel felt the sudden urge to drop the receiver and swipe the whole phone onto the ground. He took a breath, as unnecessary as that was. "I don't know where Buffy is right now," he finally said with as much calm as he could muster.

"What? Oh. No. Why?"

"Do you want me to —"

"I'm not calling for Buffy."

"You're not?!"

"No need to get her."

Silence again. 

"I'm trying to reach Martin, but his mobile is dead," Jake Mara explained. Then he suddenly blurted out. "You know, I was also friends with Wes." 

Another punch to the face that Angel hadn't seen coming. His ears rang. He put the mug down on the counter to make sure he wouldn't drop it.

"I was friends with Wes," Jake Mara repeated as if he needed to affirm the truth of the statement to himself. "We didn't stay in close contact after he moved to the States, but I pretty much knew him all my life."

"He was a good man," was the only sentence Angel could get out.

"He was a good friend," Jake Mara said.

Another silence spread out between them, but this one more purposeful than before.

Angel closed his eyes. A throbbing pain was beginning to form at the back of his skull. He had to concentrate and wrap this up. Angel opened his eyes again and quickly scanned the faces in the entrance hall. "I don't see Martin from where I'm at. Can he call you back?"

"That would be great. Thank you. Maybe you can tell him I found the translation he was asking for?"

"I can do that," Angel said. He was almost there. "And Buffy?"

"Oh, if you do see her, you can tell her I said hi?"

"Hi?"

"Yes? I mean, I hope she's fine. But nothing much happened in Berlin since we spoke two weeks ago so..." Jake trailed off, seemingly unaware of what Angel was getting at.

"Okay."

"Okay. Good talking to you. Bye."

Angel let the receiver drop. He was still staring at the phone when Buffy and Gwen came down the central staircase and made their way towards him.

Buffy leaned against the counter. "What's up with you?" she asked. "I'd say you look like you just talked to a ghost, but then I don't think that would shock you all that much."

"Jake Mara just called."

"Oh?" Her eyes went wide, but then her features quickly relaxed again. "Did he want to speak to Martin?"

Angel nodded absentmindedly, still trying to process the conversation. 

Buffy seemed neither moved nor particularly interested. "Anything else?" she asked.

"He says hi."

"Cool, thanks." She leaned more of her weight against the counter and slightly tilted her head. "What is it? Was he in a bad mood? He and Meg probably had to cancel their vacation because of this mess, but they're both Watchers so tough luck."

"Meg?"

"Yeah, his girlfriend..." Buffy's expression went back to wide-eyed. "You know who Jake is." She took a step back and her eyes darted all over the room as the realization hit her. "The Slayer grapevine told you about Jake, but they never passed on the part where we broke up." Her hand wandered from the counter to her face and she covered her mouth. A sound between a laugh and a cough whizzed through her fingers.

Angel's brain went blank. "Yes. No. Maybe. That's not it," he stuttered. Of course, that was it. That was exactly it. But if he wasn't up to comprehending inter-dimensional travel today, he definitely wasn't up to discussing Buffy's dating life either. With an extraordinary amount of effort, he finished the sentence. "He just told me he was friends with Wes. I didn't expect that." 

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, they went to boarding school together. They're both from these bigwig Watcher families, like Giles. Watchers are like the Royals in Europe. All related somehow."

"Can we play the six degrees of Angel game later?" Gwen suddenly interrupted. She had silently stood by while Buffy and Angel talked, but now impatience was radiating off of her. "As I told you, Buffy, there's this guy in the kitchen who wants to talk to you."

"What kind of guy?" Angel asked.

"I don't know." Gwen rolled her eyes, clearly not up for further message conveyance. "Says he's a friend of yours. Short and shifty-looking. Like he wants to sell you a fake Rolex. Wears a fedora inside, which clearly should be all the red flags anyone needs."

* * *

Buffy and Angel entered the industrial kitchen of the Hyperion. Gwen hadn't followed them. Instead, as if guided by autopilot, she turned around on her heel when they reached the metal swinging door and left without another word. The kitchen was usually one of the busiest rooms in the hotel. People often got stuck here, chatting at the coffee-machine or trying to snag free meals from each other, but today the space was dark and cold and eerily quiet. Stray beams of light from outside reflected in the stainless steel surfaces and in the pots that hung from metal bars. The appliances and cabinets threw large crooked shadows across the floor, resembling dark looming trees with twisted branches.

Whistler sat on the counter-top of the kitchen island and dangled his feet against the cabinet doors. As Buffy and Angel approached, he lifted himself up off the counter and jumped to the ground. "You like to keep people waiting, don't you? Personally, I'd be in a bit more of a hurry, if I was stuck in such a mess," he quipped.

The muscles in Angel's shoulders stiffened slightly. In the last ten years, Whistler had only contacted him a couple of times out of his own volition.

"We're getting the javelin right now," Buffy answered with a tone that made it clear that she'd had enough of the conversation before it had even started.

Whistler was unimpressed. "Is that soon enough, though?"

"What? I thought that was it? That's what you told us to do?"

"That was last week." The demon sauntered over to the fridge and shot them a dismissive look. "Today, I'm telling you it won't hold." He opened the fridge with at-home-ease and started rummaging through its insides. He lifted pots and Tupperware. Took the lids off of several items and smelled the food. With a repulsed cough, he put a stained paper carton back onto one of the glass boards.

"Could you be a bit more cryptic? We can almost follow."

Whistler grinned. In the darkness of the kitchen, the white light of the refrigerator formed an icy halo around his head. "This dimension. The rifts that the knife created are causing too much stress on the fabric. This world will rip at its seams." He pulled two packages of string cheese from the fridge and ripped them apart at the perforation. Then he let them both drop to the ground.

The sting cheese hit the tiles with a splat.

"When?" Angel asked.

"Hours? Days at the most. Who knows? It's not like this has happened before. Do you have a spellcaster among you who's any good?" Whistler closed the fridge door, picked the string cheese up, and started to unwrap the first package.

Angel glanced over to Buffy. "Willow, but —"

"She's not here, is she? I could sense it if she was." Whistler took a bite off the cheese. "What other plans have you got?"

Buffy and Angel didn't reply. They had talked about several strategies on how to attack the Sebatia, but hadn't gotten all that far. Every scenario that they devised had severe shortcomings. And they weren't sure about their own numbers either. SO Headquarters had roused half their units, and Slayers and Watchers had kept appearing at the Hyperion all day, but no one knew how many of them would make it to LA in time.

"Oh, Lordy. That's not a lot." Whistler said and leaned against a counter and wiped his hand over his forehead, pushing his fedora further to the back. "I thought this would come more natural to the two of you by now." A large shadow fell over his features, almost covering his entire face. 

The demon's demeanor pulled Angel back to the 1990's, and the first time they'd met. Whistler knew exactly how to call you out on your weaknesses, which button to push when. And his nonchalance always made it worse. The failures he detected weren't up for discussion. They were facts.

"So you're telling us this is it? The world is doomed, and all is lost? Thanks for the heads-up." Buffy's pugnacity was diminishing. While her words were still sarcastic, her tone was losing its edge.

"Nah. I just wanted to know where you're at," Whistler said. "I already asked some friends to help out. They were in the neighborhood for a party. Figured you wouldn't mind, if push came to shove. They should be here any minute."

And as if they'd waited for their cue, a teenage girl and a bellhop walked in through the double doors of the kitchen. 

The girl was dressed in a black turtleneck, black skirt, and black tights. The fringe of her equally black bangs hung so low they almost covered her entire line of sight, but underneath the black strands, her eyes gleamed like purple gemstones.

The boy looked like he had time-traveled straight from the 1950's to the Hyperion. He wore a small round hat on top of a sleek undercut and a green colored uniform. A maroon handkerchief peeked out of the breast pocket of his buttoned-up jacket. 

An unpleasant memory formed in the back of Angel's mind, a dark deja vu of sorts, but it wouldn't take shape. He was sure he'd never met either of them before, but they still looked vaguely familiar. Before he could reach out and take hold of the thought, Buffy gasped, and Angel turned away from the boy and the girl towards what Buffy was looking at.

A ghost had materialized next to Angel. It shimmered in hues of blue, but was otherwise hard to describe. The being's shape vaguely resembled a human body, though the head part was sleek and did not spot facial features. Angel had talked to a similar being at the Lake House. Or maybe it had been the same one.

The ghost waved at the girl and the boy. 

They waved back.

"O. Nice get-up. Always in style. Nachtrapp. It's good to see you." Whistler gave the two teenagers a small nod. Then he bowed to the ghost. "Jujing. Still of ethereal fogginess."

Buffy jerked her head around to the boy as Whistler mentioned his name, but before she or Angel could interrupt the greeting and ask if he was the O, a tabby cat sauntered out from the shadows and jumped onto the kitchen island where Whistler had just sat. It started cleaning itself, licking its paw, and stroking its ears. Then it focused them with its large yellow eyes. "Hey, nerds! The Riders of Rohan are here," it said with a voice that sounded like it had stayed out too long and downed a shot or two too many.

"Hello Seven," Whistler said.

Angel bent slightly closer to Buffy. "Did the cat just talk?" he whispered.

"Yes, the cat talks, but a walking corpse shouldn't get hung up on other people's physical peculiarities." 

Angel wasn't consoled by this observation, whether the feline had a valid point or not. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Who do you think we are? The IRS? The Avengers? We're the messengers of the Man. Only they're not men. But what gives," Seven stretched himself, raising his furry cat-butt up high. Buffy and Angel looked sufficiently confused that he elaborated further. "The men. The Powers That Be. The Others. The blue birds in the sky. You might have noticed they get involved in the safekeeping of this world from time to time?"

Buffy let her head roll back. "To be honest, I haven't. But I'm glad their interests finally align with ours and they want to help. Unlike the thousand other times we faced death and destruction."

"What do you mean you haven't noticed?" Seven's tail puffed up to the size of a dust brush. His ears flattened. "You think we just lounged about in the last decade? This is a big world that needs a lot of safekeeping. Okay, maybe Jujing here lounged a bit." He pointed at the ghost with one of his paws. "They're just floatin' around most of the time. Never much help when things get dire." 

"Me? How could I've helped? I want to help, but..." The ghost sounded distraught. "I can't even fight." As if to prove its point, it lifted its airy hands and wriggled them around. 

Angel could see the kitchen appliances shine through its palms. 

Jujing sniffled and hung its head.

They sounded so miserable that Angel almost wanted to console them, but then a draft picked up in the kitchen and swept through Angel's hair and across his neck. Water condensed on the window glass. A delicate fog began to creep up on the stainless steel surfaces. It suddenly got freezing cold. Something rumbled in the sink. The sound of hooves clanged and clattered against the metal of the pipes. Stream sputtered out of the faucets and from the drain. It shot into the air and congealed right underneath the ceiling until it formed a small cloud. The cloud contracted. It jiggled. And then tiny snowflakes started to fall onto their heads. They sailed to the kitchen floor on a gust of wind and gathered at Buffy's and Angel's feet in a soft layer that looked like someone had spilled powdered sugar on the tiles.

The ghost tried to suppress a giggle.

"Well, they can do that," Seven conceded. 

"I'd say it's a Christmas miracle. And in June no less." The bellhop excitedly clapped his hands together.

"California weather is getting crazier each year." Whistler shook his head in disbelief.

"Maybe it's global warming," the girl suggested.

The cat prowled to the edge of the kitchen island and fixed Buffy and Angel with a predatory stare. "No, I don't think it is. You know what they call snowstorm in Southern California? A fucking Hail Mary. A professional foul in the playbook of the Powers That Be. And folks like us have gotten annihilated for lesser interferences. So instead of thinking, no one's helping out, you better include us in your evening prayers. And I mean every. Single. Night. You think no one's with you? The only people, not your side, are you."

"Well, the absence of faith has never discouraged us before," a familiar voice resounded from next to the door. Egret had entered the kitchen without anyone noticing. She was not dressed in a caftan anymore, but in wide, puffy trousers and a long vest. Her hair was pulled together in a tight bun. "We're still here."

"But only because we claimed some teenage Wiccans had a happy little accident with a weather spell," Seven muttered. 

The others chuckled.

If Angel had been confused before, he could barely suppress his inner turmoil now. "Why are you telling us all of this?" he asked.

The chuckle faded, and the faces of the men and women, the ghost and the cat turned serious again, and suddenly, even the girl and the boy looked much older than they'd first appeared to be. Angel himself was old enough to feel the vastness of time now and then, but there was an expression in their eyes that told him they'd seen beyond what even he could fathom. 

On the other side of the kitchen, Whistler had taken off his fedora. He checked the bend of the brim and straightened it out. "Because the fate of this world might depend on us having another happy little accident. Because at this point it's the only thing that can buy you time."


	30. No One In, No One Out

Buffy strode up and down the perimeter, looking for evil lurking in the shadows, listening for any suspicious sounds. But the neighborhood remained quiet, even if the darkness surrounding her seemed unforgiving and vast.

A few feet behind Buffy, Whistler was still clearing the ground from trash and pieces of debris. He kicked against a dented hubcap, and the disk flew high up in an arch and hit a wall, the clatter of its aluminum-body echoing from nearby houses.

"It's here," Whistler had said, when they arrived 20 minutes earlier. Right here was the best location for their anchor point. Buffy had no idea what made the spot special or what kind of measurements the demon had used to define where his vertex of the pentagram ended - a giant shape, whose lines would span the whole city once it was finished. To Buffy, this was a random stretch of pavement in the north of LA. Ordinary in its ugliness.

Buffy pulled her jacket tighter around her body and tuned her senses to any possible disturbance again, hoping the murmur of the night would drown out the voice in her head that told her that Angel and she had been fools. That a little indoor snow show wasn't reason enough to trust Whistler's intentions. Then again, Buffy couldn’t risk the voice being wrong either. 

And Whistler and his friends had been adamant. Their magic was the only way to save the world from certain destruction. Or at least the only way to stall it from ripping to pieces. Buffy and Angel were still responsible for the saving part. In return the messengers would put a dome over LA, a magical force field that stopped the rifts from expanding any further. How long the dome would hold, they couldn't tell - even the agents of the Powers That Be had never tried this kind of spell before. Of one thing they were certain though. Once the dome was set up, no one underneath it would be able to pass the city's boundaries: not dimensional ruptures, not demons, not people. Everyone would be trapped like insects in a giant glass jar.

As soon as Buffy and Angel secured the mace, the agents had explained, they could wield it against the anchor points, smash the invisible bonds, and the dome would vanish. If Buffy and Angel didn't manage to obtain the weapons in time, the force field would collapse and close the dimensional tears with its essence. It was the backup plan, if all else failed. The only problem being that everything underneath the dome would be pushed into the planes beyond the rifts if the scenario came to pass. In the best case, this meant ending up in a world similar to this one, but just without shrimp, in the worst case, it meant stranding in a prison dimension of the Old Ones. 

Everything in Buffy had recoiled at the choice, even if it meant saving the world at large. She didn't want to wager the lives of so many people when she didn't know the odds. She didn't feel qualified to wager their lives at all. But time was running out. Buffy's stomach churned. Thousands of people were left in LA, and if she failed, she'd volunteered them all for a utilitarian death. The lesser of two unspeakable evils. And as often as she'd replayed the last hours in her head, she still couldn't make up her mind on whether they'd been wrong or right.

* * *

Buffy pulled Angel to the side. Whistler or the cat could probably hear them, but at least here in this corner behind the large gas stove, with the two of them huddled together, it felt like she and Angel still had some agency left. Like the dice hadn't already been rolled. "What should we do?" she asked.

Angel ran his hand through his hair. He made a weird circling motion, like he wanted to start pacing, but there was nowhere to go. "I don't know Buffy. I don't know. Whenever I think I know the answer, it turns out in the end that I never did." Angel had only briefly told her about everything that had happened in LA in the last years, but she understood. The choices and the stakes were getting too big for both of them. Buffy popped her knuckles, folded her hands and rested them on her chin and her lips. "Last time, you had to make a decision like this. What did you do?"

Angel let his head sag. "I came up with a plan, and then we voted, but..."

"No buts. We need to make a choice. Let’s just double-check we’re not totally off." Buffy reached out and grabbed Angel's hand. She didn't know if it was to assure him or if she did it to steady herself, but when she held on tighter, and he held her hand back, it felt unfamiliar and intimate and strangely calming.

Angel looked up at Buffy, worn out and awake, incredibly young and terribly old.

"We can do this," she whispered. They wouldn't be able to run this plan by everyone, but there were people here who knew what it meant to make these types of decisions. And then Buffy ran out of the kitchen and into the foyer of the Hyperion and up to the top floor and down to the basement, and she called their names and searched in every room until she had found them all.

When she returned to the kitchen, Whistler and Egret, the ghost and the cat, the bellboy, and the raven girl were getting restless.

"There is no time," Whistler said with urgency in his voice.

"There is time for this," Buffy answered, and then she ushered Faith and Gunn and Spike and Fred into the room. 

The four stayed close together. Suspicious of the strange demons in their midst. All of them ready to fight if it turned to be necessary.

Buffy asked Whistler to repeat what he'd just told Angel and her, and while the demon did so, she had to think of the day she'd stood in her living room, speaking to the potential Slayers about strength and how they could beat the Taruk-Han. There was no rallying speech tonight. Just facts.

When Whistler was done recounting, Spike was the first to take a step forward. "Alright, then," he said, "let's get this over with." And that was that.

"Do you want to vote?" Angel asked.

Spike rolled his eyes theatrically. "If it makes you feel better, Eeyore. Everyone who's thinks the magic rat-trap is our best shot say aye."

Spike, Faith, Gunn and Fred raised their hands almost simultaneously, and then they teamed up with the agents, and they all headed out.

Angel stood rooted in the middle of the kitchen like the sky had broken apart over his head and buried him alive.

"We'll be alright," Buffy said. "We always are."

Angel gave her his best doomsday smile in return, which was much closer to a twitch at the corner of his mouth than a sign of confidence, but at that moment, it was enough to make her almost believe her own words.

* * *

Now Buffy's optimism was fading.

"Here." Whistler shoved a piece of chalk towards her. "I can't draw the last signs. It'll cause too much attention. They'll know if I finish it up." Buffy wanted to ask who they were, but then she took the chalk from his hand and pulled the piece of paper with the sigil from her pocket that Egret had given them earlier. Buffy crouched down and started drawing the first figure onto the pavement. It came out more oval-shaped and squiggly than she'd wanted it to.

In the distance, screeches rattled through the city. They were high enough to shatter glass.

Buffy pressed the chalk down hard, the piece broke in two, and the back half dropped silently to the ground. "I hope you're not too disappointed," she said while trying to correct the upper part of her drawing. Somehow she was just making it worse.

"Why would I be disappointed?"

"Without Angel and I, the Sebatia would have never gotten to the knife. As much as we try to save the world, we also bring it to the brink of destruction more often than we'd like. Especially when we’re together." Buffy didn’t know why she brought it up. Maybe she was looking for some type of absolution and whatever she told the demon, it seemed like he already knew anyway.

Whistler squinted at her scribbles, seemingly gauging how incorrect they were. "If you say so. Seems to me you're doing your best." 

Buffy stopped drawing mid-circle. "But what if that isn't enough? What if we make it worse? You can't actively interfere. We almost freed Acathla once, and this...if your dome doesn't work, there'll be no one to stop the rifts."

"You really blame yourself for that? You wouldn't have freed Acathla. I did misinterpret Angel's role," Whistler let out a sigh, as if it was still hard to admit this mishap, "but that was it."

"What if Angelus had turned me?"

"He didn't. Please could you…" Whistler pointed at the half-finished symbol, urging her to go on.

Buffy put her hands on her knees and pushed herself halfway up from the ground. The chalk left white fingerprints on her pants. "But what if? Who would have saved the world from us? What then? What now?"

"Buffy. It doesn't happen!" Whistler spat.

"What do you mean it doesn't happen?"

Whistler exhaled noisily, grabbed Buffy's wrist and pulled her back towards the ground. Startled by the demon's unexpected strength, she let him guide her hand across the pavement until the drawing was finished. 

Then Whistler stood back up, took the chalk from her, and tossed the grubby piece into a trash pile on the corner of the street. He rubbed his hands together with more vigor than was necessary to clean them from the powdery residue. "Do you think we're complete idiots? We didn't just pick Angel off the street…well, we did, but we also chose him with purpose. You've seen the world." Whistler made a big sweeping motion with his arm. "You've seen your share of monsters and men. How many like him have you met?" Then Whistler looked at her with the same squinty eyes as before, and for a second, Buffy felt naked, like Whistler had pulled down the zipper to her inside and stared at her most secret self. "He will never turn you. And whatever you think he and you are, your relationship isn't a bad thing." His voice took on a softer tone. "It's intrinsically good. In every future we saw, you two meeting made this world a better place. Maybe not in every moment, but in the grander scheme of things..." He exhaled again. "... it's always better in the end."

Buffy snorted. "That's funny cause it doesn't feel that way to me."

"I said it was good. I didn't say it was always happy. Being good and being happy aren't necessarily tied together. Sometimes they're polar opposites."

"Boy, I should have really read the fine print, when I signed up for being a Slayer." Her own words stung Buffy more than she'd expected. After all these years a part of her was still fighting the hand that she'd been dealt.

The demon didn't move so much as a muscle. 

"So what do we do now? How do we make sure this ends well?" Buffy asked more placatingly.

Whistler craned his neck upward at the deep dark night sky and the thousands of stars that were usually not visible above LA. "I'd say all the doors are open. It depends on which one you walk through."

"That sounds like a cruel lesson."

"It's not a lesson, Buffy. The Powers don't teach." And then a strange fatherly smile spread across Whistler's face that Buffy wouldn't have thought he could conjure. "It's a message. And the message has always been the same."

"And what does it say? Because I'm kinda not getting it."

"How would I know? This message was never intended for me. I only delivered it to you."

* * *

Angel drew another triangle on the ground, rose from his crouch and stepped around the drawing. He checked the paper again. The chalk figures were a perfect replication. 

Egret inspected the drawing from all sides and made a small approving coo. "Remember this spot. You need to know the location to break the force field once you have the mace."

He nodded.

"You don't like this?" 

Angel didn't answer. Where would he start if he did? The whole situation made him want to retch. And that was saying something.

"Neither do I," Egret conceded.

A high pitched howl resonated through the concrete canyons. It shivered through the pavement, it shivered through Angel's guts. His insides constricted further. "Ever since Jasmine wanted to save the world, I've become a tad weary of putting our lives into the hands of higher powers."

"Oh, Jasmine?" Egret chuckled. "The being called Jasmine is not like us. She was much more powerful, but there’s good reason, too, that she was cast out."

Angel perked up. The fact that he and Egret saw eye to eye on his old enemy was somewhat reassuring, although it wasn't nearly enough.

Egret held out her hand to Angel and he passed her the paper and the chalk. She carefully put both items away, then she continued. "It's the Powers' first amendment. The inviolability of choice. The Powers don't command. Everything you do has to be of your own volition. That's why they would've never allowed us to save you that Christmas. We overruled your will. Likewise, they won't decide your fate for you. They can't. The only thing they can offer is an idea. Is to offer a mission."

"The mission..." Angel let out an exasperated sound, stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked a piece of debris across the street. "The mission…" His voice got quieter. After all these years, it still stung that he fell behind every expectation. "I don't know how to do it. I've tried, and I've failed. I failed so many times. I told Whistler years ago that I wasn't the man it takes to make a difference. And I'm still not."

"And you'll never be."

If possible, Angel's expression became even more desolate.

"Not if you live another 200 years. No one's ever ready. No one knows for certain how it's done. Do you think champions are drawn to the big fights because they're so special? Or do the deciding moments turn ordinary people into heroes, because that's when the world needs them to be brave?" Egret stepped into the middle of the drawing and closed her eyes. "I'd like to think it's the latter." She turned her palms upwards and quietly started to hum. "You have to leave now. We'll activate the spell, and you don't want to be near when it starts. If you're in the wrong spot, the magic wall might cut you in half."

Egret didn't look like she expected an answer or some form of farewell and so Angel turned on his heel and started walking away. He felt the energy of the oncoming spell prickle on his skin. It roared like a tidal wave that was about to hit the coast. The demon inside Angel raged, urging him to leave this place as fast as he could. It took all his will not to bolt.

"Angel!" 

He halted when Egret called his name one last time. 

"Missions are not stagnant. They're a choice we make over and over again."

Angel ran.


	31. Make No Mistake

Angel took the long way home. He needed time to shake the notion that he was trapped. The feeling had almost overpowered him when the magic walls went up. Angel had steadily walked away from Egret until he was out of sight, then he had started to run. And when he stopped, he really did have to retch. Of course, nothing came up. The last cup of pig's blood had long passed through his system, and bile was a substance he knew of, but he could neither remember its bitter taste nor its acidic burn.

The magic that the agents had summoned was stronger than any he'd ever encountered. Except for in hell. In hell, magic had been of equal potency. It wasn't a place of fire and brimstone and tiny devils with pokers, well it was that, too, but above all hell was tangible desolation. The prison Angel had been locked up in had seemed endless and vast at first glance, but it was impossible to outrun or leave behind. Even if he walked for miles into one direction, Angel always ended back up at the same spot. He had tried for days and weeks. He had tried every cardinal point. There had been no escape. But the constant feeling that there might be a way out, when there was not, was a form of torture in its own right.

The same sense of devastation was closing in on Angel now.

If he didn't retrieve the knife and the mace, he'd willingly condemned thousands of people to their death. The young, the old, the sick, the poor. The already disadvantaged who couldn't afford to run. And whoever had remained in the city to protect them. 

When Angel finally made it back to the Hyperion, he instantly knew that something was wrong. He hadn't expected any of the usually grating hubbub in the hallways, but it was almost too quiet. And the smell. The scent of unfamiliar people lingered in front of the building and inside the entrance hall—the sour note of anxiety and stress. 

Angel looked around the deserted foyer, searching for clues that would tell him what had happened. Then he heard it. A low rumble. An agitated murmur. Angel opened the door to the office. 

The tiny room was packed.

Gunn rocked back and forth in a swivel chair, Gwen sat cross-legged on the desk, Connor crouched on the ground, Fred stood rigid in a corner, Spike lay on the couch, legs dangling over the armrest, fingers rolling a cigarette. They looked up at him in unison as he entered.

"You conferring?" Angel asked.

Spike let out a sound between a hiss and a laugh. "We're bloody hiding. We're not gonna get in the way when two dozen Slayers start beating each other up. But we also can't desert this place. My money is on Buffy, though. And Faith." He nodded towards a small pile of dollars on the table.

"You're betting on Buffy and Faith?" Angel's gaze gaze wandered from the crumpled bills to the other people in the room.

Gwen shrugged. "Spike tried to be a voice of reason first, but that only made matters worse." 

"Oi!" Spike started to retort, but Angel ignored him.

"A voice of reason?" 

"And now you know why we're in here, keeping to ourselves." Connor slid down onto his bottom and leaned his face onto his knees. "Anybody wanna do a sewer run? I don't think we all need to keep watch."

Angel took half a step back into the entrance hall. It was still quiet and empty.

"They're in the ballroom, if you have a deathwish," Gunn said. "But maybe sneak in from the back. That way, their direct shots are blocked."

Angel left his team in their hiding spot and made his way into the kitchen. While they were gone, the snow had melted and turned into puddles on the floors, and Angel left wet footprints on the tiles as he passed through the room and into the service hallways. He carefully opened the door to the ballroom and snuck inside. A piece of decorative wall obstructed the view of the back entrance. The screen had initially been placed here to let the servers clear dishes without disturbing the guests. Now it served as Angel's strategic cover.

The scent of trepidation and anger was even more biting, and angry voiced churned into a barely discernible slush of words. Angel didn't recognize half the people who spoke. He peered around the plaster wall. There were more than just two dozen Slayers in the room—there were at least twice the number of people that Spike had counted. Angel saw Rowena, and Rona, Kaori, Martin, Tayo, and Cain. Violet sat quietly in a corner. Staring at her own hands. Not participating in the conversation. The complete Rio squad had returned and had placed itself in one body around a large dining table. He counted at least six Watchers. Faith lounged in a seat slightly off to the side, feet propped up on a second chair with feigned nonchalance. But even her face was serious.

Then Angel saw Buffy. Her face and body were rigid, impossible to read. Her gaze briefly darted over to the wall and to where he was hiding, then focused back onto a man in a suit. 

That one must have been Watcher as well. They all looked like they got their clothes in the same store, outfits made for sitting in conference rooms and libraries, not fighting demons.

"So just to make sure I understand you correctly, Hugh," Buffy's voice was sharp like a knife, "you want to keep weapons that none of us understand. Let alone know how to wield."

Hugh hoisted one foot on top of a chair and leaned forward over his thigh. "They could be invaluable assets to us, Buffy." He over-pronounced her name when he said it. "Just remember how crucial the Scythe was in our fights."

"As if I could forget. But you haven't seen what these weapons can do. They're more powerful than M."

"So, that's your problem?" A dark-haired woman behind Hugh spoke up. Kennedy. Angel had met her briefly once or twice in the last few years. They had never exchanged more than luke-warm pleasantries.

"You are not really asking that are you?" Judging from her tone, Angel almost expected Buffy to quiver in anger, but her body didn't betray her.

Kennedy seemed a worthy opponent, though. The other Slayer wasn't giving an inch. "You don't think it's important that we spread power to make the Slayer Organization more effective?"

"I absolutely believe in shared power, but we'll only spread it to the dark side if we ever lose the weapons again. They already brought this world to the brink of destruction." 

"And who was responsible for that?" Kennedy quipped, quickly covering her mouth with her hand, as if the words had accidentally slipped.

Angel clenched his fists. A large part of him wanted to jump into the argument and end it, but that wouldn't help anyone. Least of all, Buffy.

Hugh suddenly shifted his attention from the two women and turned to the table with the witches and warlocks. He lifted his leg from the chair, stood up straight, and shoved his hands into his pockets. All his moves were administered with painful casualness. "Alright. I suggest we postpone this discussion. Our plan to retrieve the weapons is sufficient. Let's focus on that for now. Thanks to Buffy’s and Angel’s endeavors we know where the Sebatia keep the knife and the mace. We also know most of their troops are still hiding out in the tunnels. Tayo when will your spell have mapped the chutes?"

"I'll be done by tomorrow afternoon."

"Great. Then I suggest we reconvene when you're finished. Any objections?"

No one said a word.

And then, just like that, the tension left the room, like air rushed out of a pricked bicycle tire. Slayers groaned and stretched and started chatting in smaller groups. Watchers compiled their notes.

Violet was the first to get up. She walked straight out of the main door without turning around.

The Rio squad and Rona followed.

Angel didn't wait for the rest to file out. He went back to the kitchen to grab a cup of blood and clean up. Maybe getting small things in order would calm him down.

* * *

Buffy still stood rooted on the spot, as the others left the ballroom. She was too angry to move. It was the same tune over and over again. They never trusted her judgment, if only to have a different opinion than her.

Faith still lounged in her chair, fiddling with her cell phone. "Hugh and Ken haven't changed a bit, huh?"

"No."

"They really think they know it all."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, envying Faith for being so clearly unbothered by the situation. "Well, maybe they do? Maybe I'm the one who's wrong. Many young Slayers are siding with Ken because she knows what it's like to be them."

"A spoiled white chick from the Upper East Side?" Faith snapped her phone shut, pushed herself out of the chair, and took two steps closer to Buffy. "We've been in this game longer than them, B." She reached out, briefly touched Buffy's arm, and then quickly pulled her hand back, as if she had done something inappropriate.

Buffy watched the move, decided to leave it be and changed the topic. They really had never been close enough to comfort the other. "Well, either way. I'm glad you're joining the fight. I really should've expected to see you in LA. You seem good."

"Thanks. I feel good. Coming here really helped. Got my mind off of things."

Buffy snorted. 

Faith grinned. "God, how fucked am I, that I can go into a warzone for a spiritual reprieve?"

Buffy hesitated a moment, unsure if she wanted to ask the question that had been slowly taking over her mind and even less sure she wanted to hear the answer. "It's Angel, isn't it?"

Faith looked at her, almost sheepishly. "Yeah. No one ever cared for me that way. Nobody ever wanted me to win at life as badly as he did."

"You two get each other," Buffy said, surprised at how uncomfortable the admission felt.

Faith's grin widened, a glimmer of pride flickered on her face. "It's like we both lived through the same shitty childhood." She twirled her phone in her hands, then pushed it into her back pocket. "He's the big brother I never had. In case you were wondering."

* * *

The water dripped into the bucket.

Angel wrung the towel out again until there was nothing left. "Is it over?" 

Buffy stepped around the wet mops on the floor. She sighed as she leaned against the kitchen counter and buried her face in her palms.

Angel went over to the sink, hung the towel over the rim and rinsed his hands off. Then he opened the fridge, pulled something out, and returned to where Buffy stood. He held out a can of Coke to her. "Dr. Pepper supply has run out.”

Buffy took the can from Angel, cracked the lit and took a big sip. The syrupy-sweet liquid rushed over her tongue and down her throat, and a small wave of energy came back to her. “Hugh and Kennedy came to LA with the last batch of Slayers just before the walls went up. Headquarters assigned them mission control.” She tried to keep her voice neutral, but wasn’t entirely successful.

"Did you tell them about the wall?"

"We didn't really get around to that. They don't like it when other people talk."

"Yeah, I figured as much. You need more sugar?" Angel leaned against the counter next to Buffy. "I think I saw ice cream in the freezer, and there should be a family-size jar of Nutella somewhere. Spike also keeps an old vintage of a single malt upstairs that he saved for a special occasion."

Buffy made a disgusted face. Then she gave him exhausted smile. "Do you think I'm wrong about the knife?"

"Does that matter?"

Buffy shrugged. "To me?" 

"I think you're right. Power is a two-sided sword. Or knife in this case. It's impossible to contain. Only someone who never had to hold it back would think it was a thing they could control."

Buffy finished her Coke, scrunched up the can, and tossed it across the room."We have a plan now. To get the knife back. It's not the best plan ever. But it's something." 

Angel's gaze followed the canister as it hit the trash can and softly landed on a bed of garbage. "I heard. Gunn was just here and told me something about two fronts and an ambush."

Buffy nodded haltingly. The plan should suffice, but she would feel better with Team Angel on her side. Especially so, when the discussion of keeping the weapons resurfaced later and no one heeded her advice. "So, are you guys in?"

Angel pushed against another soaked towel with the tip of his foot, moving it into the last remaining puddle of water on the floor. "So far, we haven't been invited to the party."

"What if I ask you nicely?"

"Even if you don't ask nicely, you know my reply."

"And what is that?"

Angel looked up from the mop and straight at Buffy. "I'm here. What do you need?"

Voices from the foyer slithered into the kitchen. The walls of the Hyperion had ears now, too, and any minute someone would burst through the door.

Buffy wrinkled her forehead, bit her lower lip. "Can we talk? Can we talk somewhere private?"

  
  



	32. We Two Will Know Each Other

Buffy leaned flat against the slanted window, arms stretched out wide. Her stomach felt queasy—a warning from her body that she could fall down into the LA streets any minute, even though her head knew better. The sheer size of the city had always astonished her. As did the vast emptiness that spread out below her now. Almost all the lights had gone dark. Buffy could make out an orange glow in the distance—the shuddering halo of a massive fire. She pushed herself off of the glass front and back into a straight stance. "This is quite a view. Do you bring all the girls here?"

Angel stepped up next to her and cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not sure a woman has ever set foot in this place. I check on the apartment for David every once in a while. He's helped us a lot over the years, and he's nostalgic about it." Angel turned towards the cityscape and shoved his hands into his pockets. "And then sometimes I also come here when I want to be alone. That's not really possible at the Hyperion anymore."

Buffy nodded wistfully. The castle was the same. A hundred Slayers were equally a relief and a burden. They shared the fighting, but they also shared the quarrels of each other's lives. She had to create some distance between herself and the girls’ growing pains, once she got back. A small cottage off the Dunford premises would do. It didn't have to be a home as fancy as this one, an apartment that Angel's friend unironically called _The Eyrie_. The penthouse was a strange mix of money and fantasy. While someone had definitely been paid to furnish the lofty space, it wasn’t void of a personal touch. The modern chic of the industrial furnishing was accented by framed comic book posters from the 60s and superhero figurines. There was a Pacman arcade machine in the entrance hall and model fighter planes and a miniature Death Star hung from the ceiling above the kitchen island. Xander would have loved it.

Angel, however, didn’t exactly fit into this space as he stood here in its living room, his stern gaze wandering across the city and towards the horizon. A frown had started to slowly crawl over his features. Furrowing deep between his brows.

"What is it?" Buffy asked.

"Just thinking things over."

They'd been up here for some time. Going over Hugh's plan. Hashing things out and putting them back together again. If Buffy couldn't convince Kennedy and Hugh tomorrow that the knife wasn't a weapon for keeping, Angel and she would have to resort to other measures. Find an opening in the battle plan that would allow them to get a hold of the knife and then accidentally break it. There were still too many variables in the whole set-up, though. For one, the Slayers and the Hyperion crew had to reclaim the knife in the first place. Making sure that the weapon never left LA, would be the step that followed.

"While you talk to Hugh tomorrow, I'll tell the team about our concerns. See if they're on board."

Buffy studied Angel for a moment. She could nearly see the cogs turning in his head. How he went over every possible scenario. "Are we talking about the same team? You think they might not be? Because today they were pretty willing to follow you everywhere."

Angel cringed.

"I'm serious. I don't know the others, but I do know Faith and Spike. They don't just follow the leader. They trust your calls. And being around you has changed their entire approach."

Angel made a sound of disbelief. "That's really not me. Faith has always wanted to be more. Even if she didn't let it on. And Spike? That's just his soul. That's how it works. When you get your soul back, you seesaw between shock and denial. And then one day it just hits you. You understand what happened and that you can’t brush off all responsibility." Angel shook his head. "Spike dealt with it much quicker than I did. He just switched a lever." He looked at Buffy, his face serious. "But don't tell him I said that, or I have to kill you both."

Buffy crossed her heart. "Your secret's safe with me."

Angel smiled and turned towards the city again. Buffy followed his gaze. If possible, the burning orange halo had become even more daunting—a dark omen of what was to come.

Tomorrow at dusk, they would start the attack, each with their own team. Buffy would stay with the Slayers assigned as a distraction. Their group would take down the rest of Hassian's army hiding in the caves and whatever had crawled out from the rifts in the meantime. Angel would try to get with the squad that went out to ambush the Sebatia in their mansion and retrieve the knife and the mace. 

If everything worked out, if all the pieces fell into place, they would beat their enemies, secure the weapons and close the rifts. Buffy would return to Scotland to train the next generation of Slayers. Angel would stay behind to clean up LA. Maybe they would run into each other at the next apocalypse. Exchange pleasantries and tales of demon hunts, talk about the weather.

And if they failed and the Sebatia won, if the weapons were lost, LA would fall for good. 

Either way, whatever game Buffy and Angel had been playing these last few days, that coy version of cat and mouse, was coming to an end. As many battles as Buffy had fought, as much as they had cost her, she’d always pushed the thought of an ending far away. The last fight lay somewhere in the future. There was time. There was time to try over, there was time to fix things, there was time for change.

Until there was not.

Buffy rolled her hands up into fists, clenching, holding tight until she could feel her nails cutting into her palms. She lips prickled, then got numb. "Speaking of secrets, why is it you never told me?"

Angel didn't even turn at first. He was lost in his own thoughts, only half-way listening to her. "About what?" he asked.

"You. Your soul. The spell."

He recoiled as if he'd been hit by a bullet.

Angel took a step back. His shoulders pulled back taut. His face froze. His head made a weird little swaying motion, and he put his hands on the glass, steadying himself or keeping himself from falling, regardless of whether that was possible or not. "How...how long have you known?"

"A while. Two years?"

He let out a gasp, pained and confused at once. "Willow?"

"Tayo. He didn't mean to. Just slipped up. I don't think he even knows what he told me." Buffy's face was hot and cold at the same time. She didn't even know why she'd mentioned it. Why she had asked the question when she had kept it locked up for so long. It was as if she’d watched someone else steer her body and then it just happened. Part of her wanted to take it back. But it was too late now. "I guess Will had to tell another warlock how she changed the curse. In case something happened to her. I don’t even understand the mechanics. It's a big spell." The words came out faster than Buffy wanted them to, explaining, excusing, but she had to get them out quickly because she heard her own voice crack. There was no point withholding. She was already running through a china shop with a baseball bat. "I actually never talked to her about it. No one knows I know. Isn't that messed up? Did you make her promise not to tell? I don't get it...why would you do that? Why didn't you tell me there is no loophole anymore?"

Angel stared at her, horrified. Not deer in headlights. Deer hit by truck. For the longest time, he didn't move. Didn't say a thing. Then his head sagged down as if he had just lost a fight. 

"I already told you. I told you a hundred times," he said with a deflated voice. "You just weren't there."

Angel stepped away from the window and walked aimlessly through the room. He combed his fingers through his hair. Then leaned down on the backrest of a chair, not even properly looking into Buffy’s direction. He stared at the ground, searching for answers on the hardwood floor. "Things were crazy in LA after the Fall, we fought, and we slept, and then we fought again—every day for months. When Willow got a hold of me to tell me how she changed the spell, it didn't even register. Later, when things had calmed down, when she was here on that check-up mission, she performed the ritual, but...you were with someone else then." 

Buffy almost choked. She stumbled a few steps back. "She told you not to tell me?"

Angel chuckled, but it came out more hurt than amused. "No, no. She told me to tell you." He looked up at the ceiling. Anywhere but at her. "She yelled, actually. I don't think I've ever seen her so mad. I was sure she was gonna turn me into a toad…but I can't just come into town and mess with every boyfriend you have. I'm not twelve anymore." For someone as stoic as Angel, he had a wild look on his face.

"Yeah, you mentioned you passed your teenage phase. And we weren't really on calling each other terms, were we?" 

"No, we weren't." Angel stepped back to the window front and then silence stretched between them. So wide Buffy thought it would physically push them apart. She hadn’t expected the truth to create such a distance, but she also wasn’t sure that after all this time there could have been a better outcome. 

"It's good, it's out," Buffy said, her voice brittle. 

"I guess."

"You didn't want me to know?"

"No, in my mind, this was just different." 

In the mind, it always was. At least they had that in common. 

All the almosts and the might-haves and the next-times that had played through Buffy's head over the last ten years came rushing back. Coming to LA or Sunnydale to fight and to make up. The angry shouts, the stolen kisses, the verbal punches, and silent confessions that would lead to heartfelt apologies and tearful reconciliations one day. 

But then they never did. 

All the tomorrows and the somedays-out-of-the-blue that she didn’t dare to think about: when she walked across Piazza del Popolo or St. Andrew's Square and suddenly Angel was there. When she turned a corner, and they ran into each other by serendipity and a stroke of luck. A concession of fate.

When she was ready, and he was ready, and it was their time, and everything fell into place because it was meant that way. Like the Powers That Be themselves had set them up.

But those somedays never came.

The cemeteries and the plazas were always empty. There were no coincidences. There was no sudden overcoming impossible odds.

Change and chance didn't go out of their way to find you. 

It was the other way around. The future was what you chose it to be, a door that you had to walk through. And nothing ever changed unless you changed it. 

Buffy stepped up behind Angel. A step that felt like a hundred yards. Two. She could still turn back. Keep the status quo. Keep them in this balance of eternal nothingness, this stable truce where they were only memories to each other or a distant hope for a far away future. Or she could break the glass walls that surrounded them. And get cut in the process.

Before she could think it over, Buffy took another step, leaned forward, and rested her forehead against Angel's back. 

She felt his muscles tense, his entire body switch to high alert.

She inhaled the scent of washing detergent and the remnants of cologne that lingered on his shirt, and underneath it, something so excruciatingly familiar it made her heart ache. A slight tremble crept down her arms and into her hands, edged down her legs, making her knees soft. "So in your mind when you told me...when you tell me that we can be together, what do I answer?" She could barely hear her own voice.

Angel shook his head and let out a lifeless exhale, raspy, like he'd been holding his breath too long. His head dropped back. "You know how these things play out. They never go that far."

She lifted her arms and moved them carefully underneath his, wrapped them around his waist. He went rigid in her embrace, a man getting ready to bolt. Or swing around and shove her off.

"They do now," she said.

With a sigh somewhere between pain and alleviation, the hard-coiled tension left Angel's body. His arms went slack. He leaned slightly back and into her touch. 

The wave of relief that hit Buffy was so strong that she forgot to breathe for a moment. Her head got dizzy with the effort of trying to make sense of it all. "When you tell me that we can be together, what do I answer? 'No'?"

Angel turned around, and Buffy dropped her hold. And when they stood facing each other, she reached out her left hand and grasped his right - wrapped it around his and gave it a gentle squeeze. A tug. 

He opened his fingers and intertwined them with hers, looking down at their hands, as if this was 1753, and she'd just told him someday a man would walk on the moon. Shadows and building lights danced across his face. His expression changed from bewildered to uncertain. "You're serious." 

"When have I ever said 'no' to you?"

She took a step closer towards him, her head in a slight tilt. Her heartbeat picked up. Her breath got shallow. Her muscles were pulled so tight she thought they might break her bones. 

And then he leaned down. 

So slowly that she thought she would go insane because if he changed his mind now, if he pulled away, she wouldn't know what to do. And then their lips met, and a rush hit Buffy like she had jumped in at the deep end. Or like she’d come up for air after being underwater too long. 

And from careful and hesitant, it went to feverish too fast. Angel wrapped his arms around her, and he held her just a tad too tight, but Buffy got that. She got that. Because she did it, too. Holding, grasping as if life depended on it. Because maybe it did. Her heart hammered in her chest. His hands stroked over her back. Her hands moved up his shoulders and along his neck and then through his hair. And she had to fight herself not to just grasp it. Because it wasn't enough. After all the time and distance nothing was enough.

He broke contact with her lips, placed soft, quick kisses on her cheek, and her jawline and on her neck just underneath her ear. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other pushed against the small of her back, inching them closer together.

Another wave washed over Buffy, and all her retained emotions hit her at once. Uncertainty and excitement. Loss and exhilaration. Relief. As if she and Angel had been apart forever and as if they'd never been apart. And her feelings raced through her body until she couldn't distinguish between them anymore.

Until she heard a voice whisper, "God, I missed you," and she didn't know if it had been Angel who said it or if it was her own thoughts.

  
  



	33. Before You Reach The Shore

**BOOK IV: HOMECOMING**

_To be saved is here, local and mortal. - A.R. Ammons_

Buffy woke from a deep, dreamless sleep. When she opened her eyes, she didn't know where she was. Didn't recognize the room she was in, this dark and quiet cave of steel and glass and hardwood floors. The room was minimally furnished, decked out with just the right nightstand, the right easy chair, and nothing else.

In contrast to the cool blue-greys of the world outside the bed, the sheets surrounding Buffy were soft and warm. She pushed her face into the pillows. The scent of something familiar lingered here, a hint of cologne, like a breeze by the sea. It smelled of graveyard picnics and late-night strolls and the ridiculous unreasonable hope that the odds were made to be beaten.

And for a moment, Buffy let the scent and the warmth carry her to that place between sleep and awakening where last night's events lay covered in a drowsy fog, ethereal and fabricated. The images and sensations were all kinds of unreal, and in this sleepy haze, Buffy wasn't sure she could trust them just yet. They resembled a dream she'd had a thousand times, and they were nothing like it. 

Buffy shifted under the duvet and onto her back. Somehow the blanket was stuck. She carefully turned her head to the side.

Angel lay next to her. Fifteen inches away at the most, he was turned slightly on the side, one arm stretched out on top of the comforter that covered them both. His skin like clouds against the grey of the fabric. His dark lashes resting softly on his cheeks.

A tingle spread through Buffy's chest, followed by the sudden urge to crawl over and into his arms. "Baby, I had a really good dream," her punch-drunk mind whispered to her, still unable to differentiate between the fickle borders of sleep and reality. "We're gonna be alright." But then the fog in her head dispersed and with it the reveries of boyfriend-girlfriend-futures, of waking up and dozing off in each other's arms, of teasing Angel and receiving annoyed little huffs in return for waking him too soon. And the soft shapes of the world in her mind developed sharper edges.

She was in LA. She was planning to undermine her own team. The end of the world was near. Again. She was in a stranger's bed. Naked. And when Angel woke up next to her, it might not be what she expected.

Buffy's stomach began to churn, and from the pits of deep below rose an old fear of being unwanted and left behind. They weren't boyfriend and girlfriend. They weren't even friends. The sensation in her stomach hardened, a stone that cut her up from the inside. 

What had she done? She'd pushed him into this, like she had the last time. Because she was needy and vain. What if his soul wasn't as secure as he'd said? What if Willow had made a mistake? Angel would have woken her up if something had felt off, wouldn't he? If he could even feel that something was off. They'd never talked about what it was like to lose a soul. 

And where the stone in her stomach had roughened her up, another sensation started to burn. What if his soul was fine, but because he wasn't happy? Because to him, they were nothing like perfect happiness anymore? Or fragile momentary happiness? What if he woke up and wasn't happy at all because this had been a giant mistake. A lapse of better judgment. He would leave, like he always did. Because all the futures they never had were like imaginary friends - little girl fantasies, insubstantial and transient.

The stone in Buffy's stomach shifted to her throat, blocking her windpipe. She took two deliberate breaths. She swallowed. She closed her eyes again, tried to shut her feelings out, and the spiteful voice in her head that repeated that nothing she did would ever be enough. That she wasn't enough.

Then she carefully slid out from under the covers, silently dropped out of the bed and crouched on the floor. Looking. Searching for her clothes in the darkness. She found her pants and put them on. Her shirt. Her bra lay at the foot of the bed, right where she'd dropped it.

Memories of last night came back to her. How Angel had sat on the foot of the bed and how she stood in front of him. How he'd looked at her, when she'd taken the garment off. An expression on his face that she hadn't seen on him in a long time. Or maybe she'd never seen at all. Not like this. His mouth slightly opened, eyes wide, like he was struggling to believe that this was real. Like he'd never done this before. And underneath something else entirely. Barely restrained tension. Ready to snap... 

Buffy shook her head, grabbed her bra and scrunched it into the back pocket of her black jeans. Her shoes and her jacket lay close by, tangled in a heap with Angel's clothes. 

His lips on hers, his hands moving up her shoulders, along her neck, holding her face, weaving through her hair. A moan. Her name barely a whisper. Kissing Angel was always soft and just the right tad of rough, never too forceful, leaving her wanting more and yet never becoming too much. Her hands moving down his chest, stopping at his pants, her fingers briefly ducking between the fabric and his naked belly and then sliding over the waistband to undo the first button. 

Buffy pulled the tangled clothes apart, hung the jacket over her arm, took the shoes with one hand, and tiptoed to the bedroom door that had been left slightly ajar. She had no idea where her socks were. Whatever. She grabbed the handle. Behind her, the sheets rustled. Buffy turned back towards Angel to make sure he hadn't woken up. 

He hadn't. In his sleep, Angel's arm brushed over the covers. His expression was relaxed and calm. He didn't look that unhappy. He didn't look unhappy at all. He looked like he, too, had a good dream.

A small smile crept across Buffy's face. 

Maybe when Angel woke things would be okay. He'd seemed pretty okay with everything last night. And maybe 'okay' was an understatement. Maybe 'okay' in this case was closer to ecstatic than unbothered. 

Buffy's smile grew slightly wider. 

Angel also wasn't a push-over. He didn't do things, he didn't want. He didn't do things if he didn't think they were right. Maybe she'd pushed him a little in the beginning. She'd pushed him the first time. But not the second. That hadn't been her. That hadn't been her doing at all. 

Her smile had almost become a grin.

Buffy strengthened her hold on the handle until she could feel the metal burrowing into her palm. She exhaled. Swallowed hard and pushed the stone in her throat back down into her stomach.

Definitely not the second time.

There wasn't one, but two doors in front of her now. She just had to pick the right one to walk through. And things were what they were. At least she would have a definite answer. She could handle it.

With the same careful gait as before, Buffy inched back towards the bed and around to the side on which Angel slept. She put her jacket and her shoes onto the floor, sat down on the edge of the mattress, and brushed her hand gently over his shoulder blade. "Angel?" she whispered.

Angel stirred and turned onto this back. "Oh hi," he said drowsily, almost surprised to see her. And then his face went through a range of emotions that Buffy recognized having gone through herself just minutes earlier.

"Hi." 

"You're dressed?" he asked, his voice confused.

"I have to go. Five missed calls. The girls need me," Buffy fibbed.

"Oh, okay." Angel started to wake properly and pushed himself up along the headboard and into a seated position. The covers slid down and into his lap, leaving his chest bare. 

He looked so sleepy and puzzled and almost hurt that the stone in Buffy's stomach started to dissipate. "And I also figured this man castle wasn't prepared for breakfast." 

Angel combed through his hair with his hands, making it look even messier than it already was. Buffy had a brief flashback of her fingers raking through the strands.

"No, it really isn't," he answered, studying her face, like he was searching for clues on what was really going on, like he was trying to read her mind. "I didn't do anything, did I? I didn't push or...are you okay?" 

It was such an earnest, concerned question that Buffy could feel all the remnants of dread dissolve. She gave him a timid smile. "No, not all. You... I'm good. I'm good. Except for that End Of Days thing..." 

"Yeah, that's a bummer. We could just not go?" Angel looked up at her from underneath his lashes.

"Yeah, right. As if we didn't know who's gonna be first in line once the butt-kicking starts." Buffy laughed and shifted to get up. 

Angel grabbed her wrist. "It wasn't a slip-up," he said with sudden urgency. "I need you to know that. Well, it was. It's not like I planned this. Because that would be really creepy and predatory." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "And creepy." He looked straight at her now. "I'm just saying. I might have thought about this before. Once or twice. What would happen if my soul...how it could go...with us."

Buffy sat back down. "Once or twice?"

"Trailed by a few zeros?"

Buffy felt heat rise in her cheeks. "Yeah, that sounds more like it." At least. She let her head drop back and then quickly looked towards the curtain-covered window. 

Angel stared at the ceiling and made an awkward, chuckling sound.

They turned to each other again, both grinning.

"You said you needed to leave?" Angel offered.

"Yeah, remember? Apocalyptic battle coming? The girls say it's all the rage."

"Okay, so I guess then we talk after?"

"About?"

He looked down at his hand that was still holding onto her wrist.

She followed his gaze. She hadn't even noticed.

Angel loosened his grip and moved his palm across Buffy's hand until it lay underneath hers, and both their palms were touching. She lifted her hand, and Angel shifted his, and as if their hands were acting on their own volition, their fingers intertwined. Angel stroked his thumb against her index finger. Buffy repeated the motion. And then he held tighter and slowly pulled her closer, pulled her over and in one more time. A nudge. A request. A coy invitation.

Buffy let herself fall forward until she lost her balance, and she had to brace on his chest with her other hand.

And then their lips met, and he kissed her with such heart-rending sincerity that she couldn't fathom how she'd questioned any of this. How she could think he didn't want this, when she wanted it so bad. And then all tender asks, turned into something much more urgent. Whatever happened last night wasn't enough. 

Within seconds her hand was in his hair again, and his hands were holding her waist, sneaking under her shirt, pulling her closer still. And then his lips parted, and a soft moan escaped her mouth, lips and tongues touching, kissing, until she had to pull back to come up for air. 

Buffy moved her hands to both sides of Angel's face and let her forehead sink forward until it leaned against his. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she imagined she really didn't have to go and that they could just stay here. Let other people take care of the apocalypse.

"One of us has to walk away from this," Angel whispered, tilting his head slightly, but keeping his forehead resting against hers.

Her lips curved up into a grin. "I know. One of us has to go here."

"Well, I'm not wearing pants right now," he said, still trying to sound serious.

"That doesn't improve your arguement." If Buffy didn't leave now, she never would. She leaned forward, gave him another quick kiss and then pulled back.

Angel took her hand again, squeezed it once more and let her go. "You're gonna be okay?"

She shrugged. "It's gonna be a long day."

"It's gonna be a long night."

Buffy grabbed her clothes from the floor, pushed herself off of the bed, and got up. "We'll talk after," she said. When she had made it to the door, she halted and rested one hand on the frame. "Just make sure you come back."

  
  



	34. As I Bring Back The Past

The front door closed behind Buffy with a soft click.

Angel slid backward and into the pillows. He stared at the ceiling. He briefly lifted the blanket. He really wasn't wearing pants. So this had actually happened. Either that or he was not so slowly going insane. He checked under the blanket again. Pants hadn't magically appeared.

He had just kissed Buffy. 

He rubbed his hands over his face, slapped his cheeks, and dug his fingers into his hair. The strands were tousled and stuck out in every direction. Angel winced. He carefully patted his hair down before combing with his fingers through each messy strand again, putting them into some semblance of order. 

He had really just kissed Buffy. 

After she had stayed the night.

It all came back to him now. Buffy's head leaning against his back, her arms wrapped around his waist, her heartbeat echoing in his chest. He'd been so shocked by her sudden closeness, he'd forgotten how to move.

And apparently he'd also forgotten how to think.

If he'd been his right mind, we wouldn't have taken her embrace any further. He'd been callous and selfish. He should've at least talked to her beforehand. Like any sensible adult with their history would. Or asked her out for coffee. Dinner and drinks. Whatever people did these days. He should've given her the time and space to think about whether being with him was something she actually wanted. Buffy was tired and under a lot of stress and he was complete scum, who, granted, was also tired and under a lot of pressure, but should've been more responsible. On the other hand, Buffy was an adult, and she had taken the first step. Or five. He had tried so hard to stay passive and step away from this. But it was no use. She always toppled him over. If she said jump, he asked how high.

He wasn't slowly going insane. He was already completely off his rocker. 

Angel shoved the covers to the side and got out of bed. He had to get moving, or he would never find his composure again. He searched for his clothes. They lay piled up in a messy heap on the floor. The memory of how they'd gotten there took shape before his inner eye, and he quickly put on his boxers and pants and pulled his long-sleeve over his head before he got more sidetracked. A pair of socks fell to the ground. They were white with black polka dots and definitely not his. He scrunched them up and put them in his back pocket. 

Angel was just glad he'd managed to say one or two clear sentences to Buffy. ' _I've probably imagined this between a thousand and a million times._ ' and ' _When you're around, I think of nothing else.'_ weren't really the casual conversation starters they needed. Then he kissed her because words couldn't explain, because he never could explain what it was between them. And when Buffy leaned forward and kissed him back, it felt like a weight was lifted off his chest that he didn't know had been pushing him down. For a heartbeat the feeble hope rose that they would be alright, and the ugly voice inside his head that kept on yammering _'Why would she choose you?_ ' and ' _This will end in disaster._ ' was silenced. Being with Buffy was comforting and exhilarating at once. It was like coming home and going to an entirely new place.

He was in so much trouble.

Angel found his own socks and put them on. Grabbed his shoes. It was bright daylight outside, and if he had to do a sewer run anyway, he might as well shower at the Hyperion later. 

He headed out of the apartment and straight for the stairwell. The apartment building had been largely abandoned, and he didn't need to get stuck in the elevator with an apocalypse breathing down his neck. When he reached the ground level, he went further down and into the basement, where he passed the tenants' stalls towards the mechanical room. Here in between, boilers and switching units, he wriggled his hand behind a fuse box and picked up a small wrench that he'd hidden there. Angel unlocked a trap door in the ground, put the wrench back in its hiding place, and then jumped into the building's utility shutes. The tunnels wound their way underneath the high rise like a coiled-up snake and led Angel further down and all the way into the LA sewers. After almost a decade in the city, Angel knew this underground maze as well as the streets above. Maybe even better. The route to the Hyperion and the turns came automatic, until he reached the very last crossroads. The way to the hotel was to the right. Angel hesitated for a split second. Listened. Tried to take in the smells that surrounded him.

Then he turned left. 

Someone was following him. 

His pursuer didn't make any sound as they moved, but their scent reached him over the sour stench of the sewer. Salty and amphibian. Muddy reeds. 

Angel considered his options. He could try to outrun his hunter, lead them down the pipes and tunnels and away from the hotel, or confront them. As Angel took another turn, he began to slow down. 

His pursuer was coming closer. And closer. Angel braced for the attack. He was ready to swing around and turn their own momentum against them.

A shape flitted by in the dark, disappeared again from the line of is sight, before a shrill sound hit Angel like a sledgehammer to the head. It cut through him like a knife. Up was down and down was up. Angel tumbled. The last thing he noticed was the surprising cool of the brackish sewage runnel as his face hit the tunnel floor.

  
  


* * *

Angel woke to the sound of singing voices. An ancient song. So old he'd almost forgotten he'd ever heard it at all. It was a song of a land far away and a love that had been lost a long time ago. Airy and volatile like clouds crossing a blue summer sky.

Homesickness spread through his whole body—past sorrows radiating like the pain of a physical wound. The taste of blood and dirt lingered in his mouth.

Angel blinked, and then it was all gone.

He stood on a wide sandy beach, the water teal blue and deep. Across the bay, the meadows gleamed in a lush palette of green. Angel could feel the sunshine on his face, taste the salty breeze. He had almost forgotten a place like this existed in the world.

A squeal cut through the gentle murmur of the waves. A woman ran down the shore, followed by a dog. Seawater had sprayed her grey jeans and left them with a dark speckle pattern. The woman picked up a short branch that the tide had brought in and threw it. The dog set off after the stick, barking with delight. The woman turned to Angel and waved.

Angel felt his body go numb. 

Buffy hiked over to where he stood. "It's really great here. We should've come sooner," she said, her smile impossibly bright. Her green eyes sparkled, her cheeks were flushed, her long blonde hair was messy from the wind.

"It is great," Angel said, scanning the beach, the cliffs, the black-and-white dog running down the shore. He corrected himself. _Their_ dog running down the shore, jumping through the surf, biting the waves. What a beautiful day. There was just something in the back of his mind that didn't feel entirely right. "Listen, what's the dog named again?"

"Angel," Buffy wrinkled her nose, "are the years finally catching up to you? It's Apollo." She started laughing, covering her mouth with one hand, lightly punching Angel with the other in the chest. She came closer to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and stood up on her toes. He could feel her warm puffy breath on his skin. "How could you forget? He's our baby."

Angel nodded. "Ah, yes. Yes. He's our baby. I...probably said this before, but somehow I never pictured us with a Dalmatian." He smiled, his face hurting from the exertion. Angel lifted his hands and cupped Buffy's face. He leaned down to kiss her. His lips almost brushed hers.

With a single move, he snapped her neck. 

Before Buffy dropped to the ground, her body disappeared. And so did the beach. So did the cliffs and the dog. 

The world vanished.

Angel wasn't outside anymore, there was no sunshine. He was enclosed by walls. He had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the sudden darkness until he realized he was standing in a living room the size of a high school gym. The blinds were down. The furniture was expensive and well-placed—the decoration, not a labor of love, but trained precision. At his feet lay a dead demon. He had seen this kind before—the newt with wings.

From behind Angel, a slow clap resonated through the room.

"I'm impressed. I'm really impressed. I don't think I've ever seen anyone kill their desires so quickly and with so little restraint." 

Angel recognized the voice. The Sebatia. He scanned his surroundings once more, avoiding any sudden movement. He was outnumbered. Demons stood at every exit. But they still needed him. Otherwise, he would be dead already. The big burly Sebatia was there, too. Some grunts. Angel heard steps coming closer. Boot soles thudding softly on the ground. Hassian was right behind his back. He could probably kill the demon before the others would even react. 

Angel decided to wait. 

He'd never make it out of here afterward. Besides, his reflexes were compromised. His head hurt, the room seesawed, like he'd gotten drunk on home-distilled schnapps. 

The Sabatia stepped around him. "Angel. So kind of you to come over, we never got around to talking last time."

"I remember. You got, how do they say, cut off."

"I did, didn't I?" The demon chuckled as if he'd just remembered an excellent joke. "By the way, have you met my diwan Silius? He's my first in command." Hassian pointed at the burly demon. Silius just grunted.

Angel slowly shook his head. "What do you want from me?"

Hassian cleared his throat. "Getting right to it. I see. If you want to be friends though, you need to be a bit less of a killjoy." The demon sauntered over to a designer glass table and sat down in a dark leather chair. "But I understand. We had a rough start. Let me make this up to you." He gestured towards another chair, bidding Angel to sit down.

Angel didn't move.

"You are a really tough customer." Hassian folded his hands and closed his eyes. "All of you leave."

Without questioning the command, the demons filled out of the room. Only Silius kept standing in his spot. Hassian gestured at the chair again.

Angel took two careful steps toward the table and sat down. Even the slight movement made him feel nauseous. 

Hassian grinned and licked his lips. "So I have an offer for you. I think you'll like it. Although you might be a bit surprised to find that your goals and mine actually align."

"I doubt that."

"You wish I had never come to this place, right? So do I. Thus, I have a proposition."

Angel perked up.

"If you and I work together, we can undo this. Together we can change the course of time."

Angel was about to reply something snarky, but the Sebatia held up his hand. "Ah. Let me explain. I know you're no scientist, but you're a smart man and you understand that time is just another dimension. It's another layer. Not so different from space, but harder to perceive. With the knife and the javelin, we can peel it back. We'll peel it back to any moment you want. We rip the last years off like sheets from a calendar. You wake up." Hassian snapped his fingers. "And just like that, this nightmare is over." 

Whether Angel wanted to or not, Hassian had his full attention now. And judging from the look on the demon's face, Angel had done a piss-poor job hiding it.

The Sebatia continued. "I don't care to when, as long as I don't get stuck in this hole. We peel time back to before Connor was taken. He never goes to Quor'toth." Hassian leaned over across the table and closer to Angel. Eased himself across the sleek glass surface like a reptile. "We peel it back to the day you were human," he whispered. "You think we don't know about that one? We know everything. Mohra and demon hordes? All lies to keep you in line. Just imagine waking up beside her every day and falling asleep next to her every night. Whatever you want. It can be yours."

Hassian got up from his chair and slowly made his way over to Angel. He put his hand on Angel's shoulder, leaned down next to him, his lips almost touching Angel's ear. The demon's breath wafted over Angel's skin. "No one has to die, Angel. You can prevent it. Allen doesn't die. Cordelia doesn't die. Wesley doesn't die. Winifred and Charles, whatever happened to them, blood and body mixed with demon essence. It doesn't happen. All those poor, poor people, those brave soldiers, the firefighters, the policemen, the Slayers." Hassian tightened his grasp on Angel's shoulder as he said the last words. "None of them die." Then he let go and leaned against the table, waiting for Angel to react.

Angel stared at the wall across from him, focusing on a random spot. He was in a mansion, probably in the Hollywood Hills, surrounded by enemies. He'd all but lost, and still his opponent wanted to trade. "They pulled their support," Angel said.

"What?"

"The Senior Partners. They've taken an issue with your plans."

Hassian's left eye briefly twitched. With sweeping steps, he returned to his chair, leaned back in the seat, and clasped his hands together.

"What can I say, power is the great corrupter. I always thought the Senior Partners and I, we were serving the same cause. Reestablish the reign of our old masters. Turns out, they've gotten used to how the world changed in their favor and would rather keep the status quo. The Senior Partners made it very clear just recently that they will not support my endeavors. When I defeat you, my reward will be to look over this stinking pit of liquid manure for the next few eons. And frankly, that's something neither you nor I are looking forward to."

"What's the downside?" Angel asked with the most bored voice he could muster. Inside he was reeling. This couldn't be. This wasn't right. He mimicked Hassian, leaned back in the chair, hoisted one leg up, and crossed his ankle over his knee. "There has to be a catch. You're not exactly the salvation army. You're not handing out alms to me." 

"Oh, Old Ones, no!" Hassian made that wheezing laughing sound again. "No. No. No. There is a downside to this, of course. There always is. For this plan to succeed, you have to leave LA before the ball starts rolling. And if you aren't in the game, Sebassis will still be Sebassis. That's a steep price for both of us. The Thorns will still be in charge." Hassian shrugged like he talked about a minor inconvenience, like missing the bus or buying the wrong kind of juice. "But it's not like others haven't taken their place already. There were men like Sebassis on this plane before you came, and they'll be here long after you're gone. Him dying doesn't change a thing. You and I, we have to realize we're just pawns in a war we cannot win. Why not make it as comfortable as we can? It doesn't need to be you who's paying. It doesn't need to be me." Hassian halted for a moment. "It doesn't need to be Buffy." He whispered her name, but to Angel, it sounded like he was screaming. "I know you don't want to do this. Because it feels like a cop-out. If it doesn't hurt, it can't be right. So here's one more thing to consider." Hassian's voice became soft and comforting, a good friend giving advice. "I've seen the future, Angel. If we don't change the course of time, you will die tonight. You will die, you'll never be with her and the weapons will be lost. I know self-preservation isn't high on your list, but do consider it this once. All you need to do, to save everyone you love, is get me that javelin."

Angel unfolded his legs and sat up straight again. The room was spinning so fast, he felt like he was going to faint.

"So," Hassian stretched out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Angel looked the demon straight in the eye. 

Then he took his hand and shook it.

  
  


* * *

It was early afternoon when Angel returned to the Hyperion. After being let go by Hassian's men, he'd headed straight for the hotel but had taken the wrong turn in the sewers several times, running into brick walls and metal grates. The dirty water that had drenched his clothes had dried and left his shirt and pants stiff and with crusty folds. His head was so overloaded, he couldn't make out a single concise thought in the chaos. Like Fred had asked him to solve some high brow physics equation, while he was juggling with knives.

4/3×π×(c/H)^3×ρ = Nothing

Angel climbed up the staircase from the hotel basement, but paused on the last step, forcing a neutral expression. He needed to buy himself some time. Then he opened the door.

The entrance hall was filled with people. He saw Gwen and Volchak and a demon called Dante. The rest were Slayers and Watchers.

Then he saw Buffy.

She stood in the middle of the open space, Rowena, Violet, and Rona hovering around her, like ladies-in-waiting. Mumbling, shaking their heads. He couldn't make out what was being said.

Buffy looked up from the conversation and caught his gaze. The other women stopped talking and turned to him as well. Buffy's forehead crinkled with uncertainty. It stung that she was so unsure of him. It hurt more that she was right to doubt. She excused herself from the group and walked towards Angel, each step guarded and controlled, as if she expected an attack.

"Are you okay? You took forever…," she whispered once she'd come close enough. There was something raw in her voice, and he wasn't sure whether it was fear or anger.

"I'm fine," Angel said nonchalantly. He tried to stay calm, but all we wanted to do was wrap his arms around her or break down and scream bloody murder. From across the room, the Slayers watched them like he was a wild thing that might bite. "I just ran into some vampires in the sewers, " he said and pointed at himself and the dark stains on his shirt and pants. "I really need to take a shower and burn these clothes." 

Buffy tilted her head and squinted as if she only waited for him to fess up. He couldn't put his problems on her. Not now. It would endanger her more than it would help. She needed to keep her wits together for the battle. It was enough that one of them was losing their mind.

Buffy took a step forward, breaching his personal space, reducing the distance. "Do you think you want to tell me more about your vampire fight? Was there something unusual about it?"

Then again he couldn't keep this from her either. Not after everything. Not when they were closer than they'd been in years. He'd already lost her so many times. Angel's lips pulled into a tight line. He shifted, and his pant leg chaffed against his thigh. "Maybe after that shower?"

Buffy nodded cautiously. Still unconvinced. But before she could say something else, a cracking noise ripped through the entrance hall, a sound as if someone had lashed out with an impossibly large whip. A bright disk of light appeared above the front desk. Energy curled in the air like lightning, wiggling electric eels.

They Slayers altered their stands and lifted their fists, ready to fight.

A howl echoed through the entrance hall, then the disk of light ripped. Two human bodies appeared midair and fell onto the ground. First, one of them got up, then held out her hand to the other one who still sat huddled on the floor, holding onto a long sleek weapon.

"I can't believe this portal worked. Fred is a genius!" Willow exclaimed as she let Satsu pull her to her feet. When she saw Buffy, she waved at her excitedly. "We have to make her move to Scotland!"

  
  



	35. We Two Have Secret Signs

It was late afternoon already, but for Connor, the night couldn't set soon enough. He had waited for Angel all morning to return and give them an update on their battle plans, but when Angel reappeared, he was short-spoken and ignored Connor’s questions. At first, Connor had attested Angel’s mood to his dirty clothes and the faint air of l’Eau du Sewage that enshrouded him - apparently, his latest sewer outing didn’t entirely go as planned - but then his behavior had gotten stranger as the day progressed. Connor saw Gwen go into Angel’s room, he saw Angel go into the basement with Gunn and Volchak. And then Angel disappeared all together again.

The rest of the day had moved forward at a painfully slow pace. While everyone seemed incredibly busy, Connor felt useless and so he decided to lap through the hotel in search of Angel and basic orders one more time. Of course, there had been close calls over the last two years, but somehow Angel had been in control of every demon encounter, had outfoxed every enemy they faced. For the first time since his return, Connor wasn't sure anymore that Angel and Team Hyperion were on top of it all. Angel hadn't even tried to make him leave. Make him go back to his parents or the condo in San Diego. It all had happened too fast. None of their battles had ever seemed so underprepared. 

Connor tracked down the empty hallways of the fifth floor and knocked on Angel’s door, but no one answered. He went down to the lounge, but the space was also deserted. Maps of LA lay spread out on a table. Someone had updated their scoreboard to June. Connor took a staff elevator down to the ground floor. There were several Slayers in the ballroom, double-checking their gear. The kitchen, too, was empty. As a last option, Connor went further down and into the Hyperion's basement. He didn’t come here often. They mainly used the space as storage, rarely for training, and the cage in one of the rooms always gave Connor weird flashbacks to the set of memories that he tried to stay clear off.

To his surprise, the narrow hallways were lit, if one could call it that. The feeble light bulbs that hung from the ceiling barely offered any illumination, and many crooks and corners remained dark. Connor listened for voices or some sort of commotion and picked up murmurs from one of the smaller rooms further in the back. As he came closer, he could make out who was speaking: Gunn, Spike, and Volchak.

When Connor entered the room, the three of them were huddled around a fridge-sized safe, testing its weight, discussing whether they could flip it onto a hand forklift and move it to the freight elevator. Gwen was crouching next to the steel monstrosity, examining its metal hinges.

Connor increasingly felt like a third wheel. “What are you guys up to?” he asked.

Gunn grabbed the handle of the forklift and pulled it closer to where they stood. “We’re moving the safe to the ballroom. The English crew asked for a place to keep the magic toothpick in during the fight. And as you know, the basement is impossible to defend, should Sebassis’ boy attack.”

Connor grabbed the rim of the safe and tried to jolt it. “This thing weighs at least 1000 pounds. You think you can move that?” There were two safes at the Hyperion. A smaller safe in the office and the larger safe in the basement, in the glory days of the hotel it had hidden earnings, the diamond jewelry of some of the more illustrious guests, and the occasional bribe money for the mob. 

Gwen scooted over to the front of the safe door. “They wanna try. We'll just get Beth when they fail.”

“Beth is back?”

“Came back last night. After she and Anne ferried the civilians out of the city.”

That made more sense. Beth was one of the newer additions to Team Hyperion. Or not. Angel had met her years ago. They were hush about the whole story, but in the days of Angel Investigations, the team had helped Beth escap a dire situation. After the Fall, she contacted Angel because she figured she could be of use. Especially Beth and Gwen had bonded quickly - calling themselves “The original X-Men”.

Gwen moved the safe door back and forward. Opened it and closed it. Listened intently to the clicking and snapping of the locking mechanism. “Locks work fine. This beauty hasn’t aged a day,” she said, satisfaction in her voice.

Apparently they got it covered down here. “Do you at least know where Angel is?” Connor asked.

None of them did.

And so before he could feel any more useless, Connor went back upstairs. He would try the entrance hall and the office again. Angel had probably just forgotten to include him in the planning. He had been a little out of it since Buffy returned. So far Connor had considered that a good thing, Angel was in desperate need of that kind of distraction and Connor hoped whatever had stood between Buffy and Angel in the last years had finally been smoothed out.

When Connor entered the foyer of the Hyperion, those hopes quickly dispersed.

There was a strange vibe engulfing the entrance hall—a sense of unease. Slayers and Watchers alike were hovering around the front desk. Trying not to peek in the direction of the office, trying to appear busy. Equally embarrassed and curious.

The room's blinds were only halfway closed, and inside, Connor could see Buffy and Angel. Buffy was moving, pacing, gesticulating. Angel stood rooted in a spot like a turnip, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the ground. Shreds of words and sentences squeezed through the gap underneath the door.

"I can't believe you. We talked about this." 

"I know. Buffy, please try to understand." 

"I thought we were on the same page."

Something about the weapons. Connor couldn't make out the rest.

Angel reached out to touch Buffy's hand. Buffy jerked her arm back.

Someone in the foyer let out a 'damn'. 

A few feet away from the office door, Martin jumped from one foot to the other like a squirrel on Ritalin. The Watcher walked towards the room, seemingly wanting to knock, then turned back, then changed his mind and walked up to the door again, raising his hand.

"How long have they been at it?" Faith asked as she stepped up behind Connor.

"I dunno. I just got here, too." This was all so strange. When did they even find the time to have such a fallout.

Faith smirked. "What? Don't tell me you're surprised? This was bound to happen." 

"I thought they were getting along."

Faith's smirk widened. "Oh, you don't know them that well." She leaned closer so that only Connor could hear her. "You'll see. This is Buffy and Angel at their best."

Martin finally mustered the will to knock. He raised his shaky hand. Buffy tore the door open. Martin shrunk backward. At the last second, he willed his arms to stay down and not instinctively cover his head.

"What is it?" 

"We'll have the final assembly in an hour. Rowena and Kennedy wanted to go over team assignments with leadership beforehand. But if you need more time..."

"No, we're done here." Buffy went back into the office and came out with a folder and a jacket, not waiting for Angel to follow. Everyone around Connor suddenly became twice as busy. When Buffy passed Connor, their eyes briefly met. Her expression was focused. She wasn't in the least unsure. She owned this.

* * *

Connor picked a chair at a table off to the side. The ballroom was already packed with people and he still didn't know what his role was in all of this. When Angel had exited the office after Buffy, he just huffed a curt, "We'll talk later. I have to find Hugh first," and left Connor standing in the foyer.

Right now Angel was sitting in the center of the ballroom at a table with Gunn and Faith. Spike sauntered in and plopped down in the chair next to Angel, leaned over to say something. Angel just nodded.

Gwen, Beth, and Volchak were the next to enter, Fred in tow. They headed straight over to Connor and sat down at his table. A couple of Slayers followed. When everyone had somewhat settled down. Martin turned on a projector and threw up a map of LA onto a white screen that they usually used for movie nights. He looked over to Hugh. When the older Watcher gave him a small nod, he started his presentation.

"Thanks for being here everyone. We'll try to make this quick and briefly go over the plan once more. There will only be a few alterations to what you already know. The good news first. We know where the Sebatia are hiding. Thanks to Buffy and Angel and a stakeout mission led by Rona, we were able to locate their base in the Hollywood Hills. He circled a small street with the bright red dot of a laser pointer. Over the last two days, Tayo and Cain managed to map the caves underneath LA." Martin switched the slides. From the straight lines of a street map, the imagery changed into a bundle of interwoven chutes, some of which ended in caverns. "The majority of their troops are awaiting orders here, here and here. We will drive them out of their hiding spots with a fire incantation that Willow concocted." Again Martin circled different areas on the map.

Rowena took over. She explained what most of them already knew, for the attack, the group would split up into three units. The largest team, Alpha, would draw Hassian's army into a fight around the Staples Center. They would bind the troops and hopefully diminish their numbers. Simultaneously, Bravo Team would break into the mansion and try to steal back the knife and the mace.

"What makes you think he won't just open another rift and escape?" Eliza, a Slayer from the Brazilian squad, asked.

"As we learned from Ill...Fred," Rowena turned towards Connor's table looking for affirmation, "traveling through these gateways without the javelin is extremely difficult. Without precise calculations, you won't know where you end up. We just have to hope the Sebatia won't risk it." She finished her list with Charlie Team, who would stay behind at the Hyperion to protect the javelin. "As for the team assignments and team leads..." Rowena picked up a sheet of paper.

With a squeak of metal on marble floor, Kennedy stood up. "Before we assign the teams, we need to decide what we do with the weapons after."

"Do we have to discuss this now? We just went over it half an hour ago and decided to postpone the decision." Buffy exhaled loudly, discontent written all over her face. 

Kennedy shot her a challenging glare. "I think we do. It will affect our strategy in case something goes wrong. And everyone should know about the dangers we're facing." 

"Alright, then. I haven't changed my opinion. We get the mace and the knife, we close the rifts, we destroy the weapons. In the visions Angel and I saw, it was obvious even their maker wanted them demolished."

"That's what you say. We have no proof. Maybe you misinterpreted the sequence of events. Maybe you were deceived."

"No," Vi interrupted the conversation. She had barely talked with anyone since she'd returned, which made her objection all the more striking. "You didn't see what's in these other dimensions, Kennedy. These beings, these demons, they must never escape."

"But what if they do? What if someone finds another way? Then we won't have the means to fight back." Kennedy took a wider stance, talking as much to Vi and Buffy as all other Slayers.

"And here we are at our stalemate again," Buffy said. "We don't have time for this."

"You're absolutely right," Hugh concurred. "Let's get a different perspective. Maybe that will move us forward." His face was calm, almost serene. He was a man proud of his foresight. "Angel, what do you think? You're much older than all of us. You've seen your share of monsters." 

The hair at the back of Connor's neck stood up, as everyone's attention shifted. Angel seemed surprised, as well. He looked at Buffy, then at the other people in the room, clearly uncomfortable having been put on the spot.

"Well, to, be honest," Angel struggled with what he wanted to say next. He fidgeted with his hands, wringing them as if he tried to force a decision out of himself. "I think it will be crucial to have the knife in our possession. These three weapons could bring the change we've all been fighting for. With these weapons, we can win." Angel turned to Faith and Gunn and Spike, verifying beforehand what followed next. "But we discussed this and we won't fight your choices. It's most important we take care of the imminent threat united. Make sure the world is safe." 

They had? When had they discussed this? With Connor, they hadn't. He shot Gwen and Beth a look. Fred leaned forward and put her hand on Connor's arm. "Say nothing. Let them deal with this," she whispered.

Before Connor could object, Buffy jumped up and slammed her hands down hard on the table. "What?! You don't believe that, Angel, do you? This is not about winning."

Angel looked her straight in the eye, his expression pained, his voice rife with emotion. "I do. I believe it's our only option. Think of all the good we can do."

Connor perked up. The only thing that was more of a red flag than Angel's unbothered weatherman voice was Angel drooling pathos. A murmur wavered through the group. Angel's assessment had caused further dissent. Buffy just stared at him, shaking her head.

"So, how do we proceed?" Kennedy asked

"How about we vote?" Hugh suggested. The murmur intensified. "That's not what we usually do, but it might be the wisest option under the circumstances. It's a matter more far-reaching than one battle. Those in favor of keeping the weapons raise your hand."

Hugh and Kennedy raised their hands before he had even stopped speaking. The Rio squad followed. Then the Slayers from Mexico City and Martin. Tayo's and Cain's vote was also in favor. 

And then Angel, Faith, and Gunn, too, lifted their arms. Spike clenched and unclenched his fist a couple of times, but then he, too, raised his arm.

Someone cleared their throat. Connor turned and looked at Fred, Beth, Gwen and Volchak, all four with one hand in the air. He tried to count. Buffy hadn't voted, and neither had Vi, Rona, Willow, Satsu, and some others. But it didn't matter. The 'no'-fraction was outnumbered. 

Then Faith suddenly jumped up. "Okay, ladies, now that this is decided, let's stop with the handholding and village politics and go kick some ass." 

"It does seem like we have come to a decision," Hugh said, turning his attention from Angel to Buffy. 

Buffy had sunk back in her chair, trembling with anger.

Angel just stared at the floor, waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"So who's doing what, Ro?" Faith asked. 

Rowena picked up her paper again, still surprised by the suddenness of the vote, startled by the fact that she had a task to finish. 

"Buffy is the leader of Team Alpha. Kennedy is in charge of Beta Team."

"So you're gonna get us the knife. Do you need some help with that? We know our way around." Faith gestured at the people at her table. "And Angel is like the leading expert when it comes to old antelope horns. He spent quite some time with Sebassis."

Hugo stroked his chin. "I think that's a great idea. Angel, I know your group and the Slayer Organization, we don't usually work this close together, but all the Slayers have always spoken very highly of you. I think it would be of great value to us, if you could help us retrieve the weapons."

"It's an excellent plan." Faith grabbed Angel's shoulder and gave him a little shake. "Covert ops are our specialty. You're up for this A?"

Angel didn't look up. "Of course. I'll be happy to help wherever I can. Finish this once and for all." He tried to smile, but the expression came out more like a sneer.

And that was that. Hugh closed the meeting. And one after another, the Slayers and Watchers filed out of the ballroom.

Connor got up from his chair and made his way towards Angel, who was already approaching Buffy. She was still shaking her head in disbelief.

"Buffy? You know, I didn't want it to go down like this."

Buffy looked up at Angel as if she hadn't even noticed him coming over. Her tremble was slowly subsiding. "There's no way to change what happened, Angel. You know that as well as I do. The only way is forward." Her lips were pressed down in a thin hard line. 

Angel nodded diffidently. "It's gonna be a long day." 

"It's gonna be a long night," Buffy said.

Then Angel turned without another word and walked towards Connor. "Let's go," he said, when he passed him by. "You're in my group."


	36. We All Must Pay A Price

Even though night had set, they ducked as they crossed the garden, hiding behind overturned deck chairs and unruly shrubs, careful not to be seen. The grass in the yard reached well above their ankles. Nature had broken out of its confines and was reclaiming the property. The words “Traitors!” and “Eat the rich!” had been written across the walls of the once luxurious mansion with red spray paint.

A crashing noise made Connor turn. “Raccoons?” he asked Angel in a hushed voice.

Angel shook his head. “I think it’s rats.” He rushed over to the front of the party in a crouched sprint, peered left and right, listened for more noise, then urged the others on.

When the group reached a chain-link fence, Kennedy gave the Slayers hand signs, and one after the other, they quietly scaled the barrier and dropped to the ground on the other side. Spike, Connor and Faith followed. Angel came last.

Like a band of shadows Beta Team moved silently through the next yard. It was surprisingly well kept compared to its neighbor. The filter of a pool gurgled sleepily. The smell of burned wood hung in the air. Someone had recently tidied this place up. 

The mansion they were heading for was one of the most impressive in the neighborhood. It towered over Hollywood on a hillslope like a beacon of modern royalty. Kings and queens didn't rule this land, it was movie stars and producers. Or at least it had been until the Fall. This symbol of their former power must have barely been finished when the demon hordes vandalized LA.

The team rushed forward until they reached the window-front of the basement and Kennedy gave them a sign to halt. She put her hands on the glass and peered inside. “I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Let’s sweep the house bottom to top.”

Angel stepped up next to the Slayer. “You're right. They might be waiting for us. Let’s make sure we're prepared. Spike and I will move over to the driveway and enter through the front. That way we can get at them from two sides and cut off any possible route of retreat.”

“That’s a good idea. You do that.” Kennedy tried the handle of the patio door. It was unlocked. The other Slayers came closer. Swords raised. Crossbows unsecured.

Connor was about to fall in line, when he heard his name being whispered.

Angel had turned to him once more. “Connor. Listen. This is important. If we get separated, I need you and Faith to go find Buffy. Stay with her no matter what happens. There’ll be chaos downtown. She will know what to do.” Then Angel turned on his heel and headed up the slope and around the the building, Spike in tow.

Connor wanted to call after him to ask what he meant, but Faith already gave him a nudge forward, and the two of them followed the Slayers. 

The inside of the mansion was as tidy as the yard. Neither dust nor disarray greeted them. Instead the rooms smelled like lemon zest and window cleaner. As if the owners were on vacation and the housekeeper had prepared everything for their imminent return. The Slayers swept into each chamber in pairs of two. Connor and Faith followed their example. They entered a small home gym with weights, an elliptical, and stacked yoga mats. Connor picked up a work-out DVD, looked at the title without reading it. Faith's image reflected on the mirrors that hung on the walls. Nothing was out of order.

When they returned to the hallway, all the rooms on this floor had been cleared. Next was ground level.

The team snuck up the stairs in a file -- maybe the most dangerous part of entering an unknown location -- came out in another hallway and quickly spread out in the living room. They stood back to back, looked left and right and behind larger furniture pieces. A laminated map of California lay sprawled out across the large glass table. Dozens of colored tokens were neatly stacked into piles on its side.

This space, too, was deserted.

Kennedy let out sound like an animal that had been cornered. Then she stepped over to a light switch and punched it. All the ceiling lights in the living room flicked on simultaneously, turning night time into artificial day.

One of the Slayers gasped at the sudden brightness.

There was no one but them around.

For a second there was a flicker of uncertainty on Kennedy's face, and she looked lost and almost fragile in this lavish room with all its stylish glass and concrete. Of all the things she had prepared for, an empty demon lair was apparently the one scenario she had not expected.

“Where is everyone?” she hissed. “Why is no one here?” Kennedy abruptly turned and stalked hastily back to the main hallway and to the front door. She ripped it open, and the door hit the hallway wall with a loud thud. “And where's Angel?!”

* * *

Buffy switched on her flashlight and illuminated the entrance to the caves. It seemed that she and Angel had crawled out of this hole an eternity ago. In reality, it hadn’t even been two weeks.

Across the property of the former Staples Center, the Slayers of Alpha Team had begun to occupy spots that gave them an advantage in the field. The ground was covered in tripping hazards, weeds were growing in between the rubble and even with all the girls that had come to LA, there weren’t enough Slayers here to form proper battle lines. Rowena climbed on a pile of debris to get a better vantage point. Some of the demons from the Hyperion had mixed with their team, but no one from Angel’s team was present. So much for timely back up.

Willow stepped over to Buffy, dressed in the same black outfit as the Slayers, her red hair tied back. “Another year, another battle to stop the end of the world. But what did I expect? It’s apocalypse season.”

The two women exchanged a fleeting smile and Buffy turned her attention back to the cave.

“You okay?” Willow asked.

“Peachy. Just another day at the office.”

“It’s just some people were worried when you didn’t come home last night.” Willow pulled a velvet pouch from one of her pockets and nimbly loosened its strings. Then she pulled a small envelope from another pocket and opened that, too, moving slowly to make sure that none of the contents spilled.

“I heard, but I wasn’t really in danger." Buffy bit her lower lip, illuminated every crook of the cave entrance diligently and then switched the flashlight off. "Not the mortal kind anyway. I didn't sit out the rest. I sorta bolted.”

Willow halted mid-movement, looked up from the items in her hands, raising her eyebrows high. “You what?!...You just left?" If possible her eyes opened even wider. "Hold on! Don’t tell me it wasn’t your cup of tea?! I mean, it's totally fine, if it isn't your flavour. It's just...I always thought...”

“No...noo!" Buffy raised her hands abruptly, almost dropped the flashlight, then quickly lowered them again. "It was my cup of tea...it was all my cups of tea...it was good tea...hot…boiling tea even...he’s a great tea maker.” She attached the flashlight to her belt making double sure, she had secured it tightly. “I think I’m just scared of getting burned.”

Willow pondered on the statement for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “I get that. It's a lot.” A coy smile crept over her features. “So, did you offer cookies with that scalding beverage?”

“Oh god, I should have never told you about that!” Buffy groaned. "This will haunt me forever."

Willow chuckled, trying not to spill the contents of the pouch and package. Then she got serious again. “You know, I would have done it sooner if I could have.”

“Will it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I should have at least told you, but it took forever to figure out how to make it work. And I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. Even when I came to LA, I didn’t know if I could get it right.”

“I’m sure altering the curse was really hard.” 

“That’s it, though. I didn’t alter the curse. I didn’t want to curse him. Curses can always be broken, and they are kinda mean. This fix works differently. It’s more like I turned a light on inside Angel’s head.” Willow clenched her hand around the pouch. When she noticed what she was doing, she eased her hold. “We should talk about this later. It's a little too metaphysical for a battlefield.”

Buffy nodded in agreement. The science behind spells was hard enough to comprehend when you had no other distractions. "Let's get this over with."

"Let's," Willow exhaled, lifted the tiny envelope and poured its powdery content into the pouch.

The insides of the bag sizzled, and a slender purple plume snaked its way into the air.

Willow dropped the envelope, drizzled the contents of the pouch onto her hand, pulled the cord close with her teeth, and stuffed the pouch into her back pocket. She moved one palm above the other, channeling energy between them and began to chant quietly. The sand-like material in her hand formed into a ball of light. She let it hover for a moment, then she raised her arms high, and the sphere flew up in the air, where it circled, before it shot into the cave.

A rumble rose from the tunnels.

“You know this whole plan could cost us later,” Buffy said.

Willow grabbed Buffy’s hand and squeezed it. “I thought it might.” 

* * *

Gwen opened the heavy main door to the ballroom. Beth followed right behind her, pushing the cart.

Two Slayers lounged in two chairs next to each other, flipping through gossip magazines. Beth had seen another couple doing the rounds in the hallways, before they climbed the staircase to the roof.

Martin and Nika sat in the middle of the room, crossbows by their side. Next to them stood that old watcher guy Hugh, going over papers he had spread out on a table. Beth could tell they weren’t exactly at ease. The ballroom was hard to defend if demons should attack, but at least it had exit routes.

The safe sat undisturbed, where they had put it earlier, welded to the floor like a dark altar.

“Hi, guys,” Gwen called in a chipper voice that cut through the tension with its brightness. “We just went through the last weapons’ stacks and found these swords and crossbows in the basement. You need anything?”

Beth pushed the cart past Gwen and next to where the men and women were sitting.

“Thank you,” Martin said. “But I think we’re good.”

The Slayers didn’t even look up from their magazines.

“How about you?” Gwen lifted a sword with a crescent blade and held it up to Nika. “Scimitar?”

Nika shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Beth started pushing the cart with the weapons into the direction of the kitchen.

“Alrighty then. Then we'll just head back to our station," Gwen flashed them another bright smile and jogged after Beth. She’d almost caught up, when she turned around to the Slayers and the Watchers once more. “Just holler if you need anything else!” Before Gwen had the chance to look forward again, she tripped, stumbled passed Beth, and in the last second, braced with her hands against a wall instead of hitting the ground flat.

Beth tightened her grip around her cart’s handle. “Raiden, you’re such a klutz sometimes!” Beth could feel the rage coming up in her chest. Felt it collect in her center like a white ball of hot light. She held it there for another second. Pulled it tighter. Then she released it.

Gwen was about to apologize to her, but before she finished her sentence, the ground shook and the lights in the room went out.

One of the Slayers cursed.  
  
Then everything went really fast.

The earth rumbled. The furniture and chandeliers shook. The cart toppled over. Gwen moved in the dark. With a crash, one of the light fixtures fell to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces. Chairs fell over. A door slammed. More cursing.

And as suddenly as it had risen, the rumbling stopped.

One after the other, the lights came back on. Some of them flickering, as if they were scared.

The Slayers had jumped up from their chairs, weapons ready.

The Watchers had unsecured their crossbows.

Gwen crouched next to the cart and had already started to hoist it back up.

The swords and crossbows lay splayed out on the floor.

Beth grabbed a couple of swords and a fighting staff, and lunged them all onto the second tier of the small wagon. “Oh, wow. That was scary,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “The rifts must be getting out of control. I hope the others work fast.”

The Watchers and Slayers only mumbled words of displeasure, lifted their chairs back up and sat down again.

Gwen shook herself, grabbed the last weapons, shifted the cart around and pushed it towards the kitchen.

Beth followed her.

Behind them, the door swung shut. Only a single light illuminated the room and its countless dark corners.

Gunn leaned against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest.

“Do you have it?" Fred asked, stepping out of the shadows.

Beth jumped, clapping her hands over her mouth. “Jeez Louise! Do you have to scare us like that?”

Gwen dug through the swords and unrolled a large piece of leather to reveal the javelin. She picked it up and handed the weapon to Gunn. “Of course we have it. They didn’t even change the code of the safe.”

Gunn weighed the spear in his hands. “Do you think they suspect anything?”

“No?! Why would they? Even in an organization full of extraordinary young women, young women are generally underestimated.”

* * *

Egret entered the study of the Lake House and turned on a brazen desk lamp. The room was dark except for the lamp’s soft beam of light. Since the festivities had ended, most guests had left the estate. She was glad about the quiet. Casting the spell had exhausted her more than she'd anticipated.

A shadow moved in front of the curtains.

Egret stepped back to the door and switched on the ceiling light.

Seven sat on the window sill, licking his front paw.

“So, what do you think?” Egret asked. “You never met him before.”

“I don’t like to admit it, but Whistler is a genius.” Seven jumped to the ground and strolled towards her, then changed direction and moved in slow, languid circles through the room. “He finds these people. I don’t even know where and how. And then he pushes them with the exact right amount of force. Save the girl. Save the world. So simple. Yet it could change everything.”

Egret sat down in the wooden office chair, put up her elbows on the desk top, and rested her chin on the backs of her hands. “I do hope so.”

Seven pulled his weight back onto his hind legs and into a crouch, wiggled a little, and then lurched forward and onto the table. “Well, if he succeeds, you won’t be entirely blameless. I know what you did. And the Powers know it, too.” His pupils had shifted from large circles to thin lines.

“I didn’t do anything,” Egret said.

“Oh, please. That’s a Hail Mary if I’ve ever seen one.”

“It was the law of hospitality, Seven. It's as old as the concept of home. And the gift came directly from the Lady.”

Seven rolled his eyes, an expression that always made him look like a Muppet. “The Lady is untouchable. You know you will be held responsible, if anything goes wrong.”

Egret put her hands down on the table and set up straighter. “So, what's their verdict?”

“It’s still out. They’re waiting to see how things unfold.”

* * *

Angel stood in front of the gate and waved at the camera with his free hand. “I’m here,” he called. “I brought what you asked for.” He lifted his other hand and with it the javelin.

With a buzz, the electric gate opened, and he stepped through.

Spike and Gunn were right behind him.

A scrawny demon held the front door open for them and grunted as they passed him, pointing with one arm towards the inside of the mansion.

“Nice crib. Being evil doesn’t mean you can’t live in style,” Gunn noted as they entered the living room. He stepped over to the fireplace and picked up a small golden statue from the mantle. “That movie is highly overrated, though. Didn’t have any Denzel in it.”

Angel scanned his surroundings like he had done this morning. It was a different mansion, but the impersonal decorations were almost identical. They said more about who the owner wanted to be than who they really were. The same cronies as before lounged about, watching him with beady eyes, but utterly unconcerned.

Silius was the only one who seemed tense. He stood next to a large window, alternately eyeing the scenery and the the newcomers. He held the mace tightly in his hands.

“Angel! You’re here. And you brought friends. How neat." Angel's gaze fell on Hassian. The Sebatia sat sprawled across a white leather couch, twirling the knife between his fingers. He put the weapon down on the coffee table, hoisted himself up and clapped his hands together. 

“I needed to make sure I got here. It’s kind of a warzone out there.”

Hassian chuckled. “I heard that. And thanks for the heads up about our old house. Getting in a fight with the Slayers would have been inconvenient right now.”

“Of course.” Angel couldn't believe how easy it had been to lose Kennedy and the others. But his thoughts didn't linger with the Slayers. He was here for other reasons. As he ran his hand over the handle of the javelin, properly studying the weapon for the first time. It was flawless and perfectly balanced. “So, how do we do this?”

At Angel's question, the demons around him slowly broke out of their stupor, becoming a tad more alert. From the corner of his eye, Angel saw Silius twitch ever so slightly.

“Still so short-spoken. But I understand your impatience. We have lots to do." Hassian held out his hand towards Angel. "First, you have to give me the javelin. Then, I open a new rift with the knife.”

“I got that much. But how do we actually do this? How do we turn back time? When I hold the javelin, I hear a voice in my head. I hear it talking to me, but I can’t make out a single word.” Angel touched the back of his head, as if he could shield it from the sound.

“Naturally you don't. The weapons speak the language of the Others. An ancient dialect from the Primordium Age, when they still shared the same tongue with the Old Ones. It’s as good as forgotten. I doubt there's anyone in this plane who understands it. As for how we do this. We don’t turn back time. We chop it off. We make a cut and enter the world between worlds. The Notime. And then we ask the javelin to find the place we want to go to, and we step through on the other side. Easy as that.”

“And everyone here? What happens to them? What happens to the other me?”

“The people here? This version of them will have never happened. They're free of this future. As for the other you? I suppose you could cut a deal with him. Or you kill him. Whatever you prefer.” Hassian took another step forward and reached out his hand again. "Whatever you want, Angel, it can all be yours. Just hand me the javelin."

Angel looked at Hassian's pale hand. He looked at the weapon. How its black coat shimmered and the light reflected on its surface. It was almost like Angel could see shapes and figures on the handle. The future he didn't even dare to think about was right here. He could bring his friends back. Undo his mistakes. Change the world for the better.

Angel took a step back.

Hassian lowered his arm. “Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for old you? Don't be. Far as I know, he didn’t make the best choices.”

Angel shook his head, felt the weight of the javelin in his hands again. Listened to its soft voice murmuring unanswered questions. How old they both were. Three centuries had rarely been so present. “He definitely didn’t." Angel said. "He made some terrible choices. But in the end, the only way is forward.”

Hassian flinched. “That’s too bad. It's also too bad you brought a half-demon and a vampire as back up. That’s not good enough.”

Angel looked up from his hands and right at the demon. “I know, it isn't. That's why I didn’t.”

Behind him, Fred, Gwen, Beth, and Volchak stepped into the living room.

Hassian moved backward.

“How did they get in here?” Silius hollered, coming forward in fast angry strides. “How did they make it past the alarms?”

“Oh, that?” Gwen shrugged, electricity zapping between her fingers. “That was more of a joke than a security system, wasn’t it? Even Connor could have broken into this place.”

Silius stared at her dumbfounded.

“Well, since this is getting awkward, we better stop overtaxing your hospitality and wrap this up.” Angel smiled at Hassian and dropped the javelin.

Hassian and Silius stared at the weapon.

At that moment, Fred called out a whole slew of unintelligible words, the javelin stopped its drop mid-fall and soared towards her hand. Fred caught the weapon, altered her stance, and threw the javelin across the room.

A footman jumped in front of Hassian and into the weapon's trajectory, but the javelin passed through his body like it was made of paper.

It hit Hassian straight in the chest. The demon’s eyes went wide. Then he sank to the ground.

Beth and Gwen moved closer together.

Volchak threw an ax and a sword to Gunn and Spike.

Silius roared, and the demonic henchmen screamed.

Fred lifted her arm, called out more words, this time louder and more erratic, and the javelin returned her.

The demons charged forward with surprising speed. Silius went directly towards Angel, hurling the mace at him.

Angel tried to evade the weapon, but the scrimmage was moving in too fast, blocking his way.

The spike-studded head of the mace hit him right in the ribs.

With a pained groan Angel went down.


	37. In Open Fight

Before Angel realized that he’d been hit, he heard Fred scream. He wanted to tell her not to worry, but then the pain took over and drowned out everything around him. Angel had been hurt many times in his unlife, but none of those incidents came close to the excruciating ripple that ran through his body now. He heard the wet crunch of his ribs as they broke and his chest was set on fire with flames eating their way through his flesh and his veins. If he could have ended the pain then and there, he would have given anything to do just that. The world ceased to exist. There was only anguish. Angel saw stars. He saw red streaks. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t think.

Confused images flashed before his eyes. Spike kicking a demon in the chest. Fred with blue hair and blue eyes. Flying demons. Demons without heads and arms. Lightning striking inside a house. Gunn lying in a dark alley, clutching his hand in the rain. A dragon shooting fire from his nostrils. Faith crying inconsolably. He saw Connor with a sword, unwilling to yield. Stubborn, always so stubborn. Buffy's hands placed on the cushion on both sides of his head, her face parallel to his, smiling.

And then suddenly the world returned. The shockwave of pain subsided, and in the white noise of disorientation Angel could make out demon howls and Gunn yelling at them to come and get him. Angel twitched. He stared into the luminescent halo of an egg-shaped light floating on the ceiling. It was impossibly bright like the room had its own miniature sun. Tears slid down his temples, and as Angel rolled over, a sharp sting bit diagonally through his torso. Something shifted where it shouldn't. “That hurt,” Angel slurred, as he held onto his left side. 

The burly Sebatia towered above him, his expression one of genuine fear, as if he just discovered he was fighting a real monster. "But, but the mace…,” Silius stuttered. 

“..kills a man with one blow?" Angel struggled to heave himself into a seated position. “I know,” he groaned, trying to push himself up to his knees, and failing. “I’m already dead, though. Surprise.”

Silius roared and struck down the mace with one vicious move.

Angel raised his arms to shield his head. The weapon never made contact. Instead, the demon's body dropped like a wet sack of grains beside him, throat slit just underneath the jaw.

“How about you stop cracking jokes and start helping out?” Gunn grabbed Angel’s right forearm and pulled him up. “Let’s go to work.”

* * *

The battle had been going on for too long. Buffy had cut down demon after demon after demon, but their numbers didn't seem to diminish. Her arms and legs were growing weaker. She didn’t even want to know how the others were doing. As far as she could tell, the casualties were permissible so far. Broken bones. Cuts and gashes. No deaths. That would change once fatigue came to the enemy’s aid. On the battlefield, the demons blurred into a mass of brown and green and blue. Of claws and fangs. Buffy had stopped trying to recognize the species or to tell the individual apart. She didn’t care anymore what hell-creatures the Sebatia had pulled from other dimensions. 

Buffy struck down another demon when Kennedy suddenly appeared in her line of vision. Kennedy, who was charging towards her. Her face distorted by anger and disdain. The younger Slayer shoved demons and Slayers out of her way as she ran into Buffy's direction -- not caring about getting injured or who she interfered with on her path. When she reached Buffy, she hurled herself forward, pounded on Buffy like a large cat capturing its prey, and pushed her to the ground.

Buffy hadn’t expected an attack with such force.

Kennedy pulled Buffy up by her vest. "What have you done? What have you done?” she screamed. She shook Buffy’s body like a toy, making her head jerk back and forward, as if it was attached to a wire and not to her spine. “Where is he? Where did he go?” Her voice was high pitched and hoarse. ”You two are endangering all of us. If anyone dies, it’s on you!”

For a moment, Buffy was too stunned to retaliate. Her head swung back once more and she caught sight of the night sky. The endless black, the small lights of the stars, and in front of the vast canopy, the shimmering magic web of the dome. What they were doing was saving the world from destruction. Buffy grabbed Kennedy's wrists, and dug her nails into the thin flesh that covered the joints. Kennedy didn’t even flinch, yet her body lifted upward. 

An arm wrapped around Kennedy’s neck, put her in a chokehold, and pulled her up.

“Get off of her, you rabid bitch!” Faith yelled, shoving Kennedy to the side.

Connor was right behind her, holding out a hand to Buffy, helping her up.

“You, you…!” Kennedy pointed at both of them. “You’re in on this, too.”

“Kennedy! Start collecting your goddamn marbles. Connor and I were with you the whole night. Buffy was here. This was your plan.”

Kennedy trembled with rage. “But Angel! Angel!”

Faith moved in between the two women, shielding Buffy from another attack. “Yeah, Angel is his own vampire. Maybe he saw something and followed a lead. Maybe someone took him. We’ll figure it out. All that matters now is that we get this battle under control, regroup and find the weapons. Now make yourself useful and kill some bad guys instead of beating up our leader.”

Kennedy spat onto the ground and grabbed an ax from a dead demon. “This isn’t over!” she snarled and took off.

Buffy patted herself down and readjusted her clothing. Her French braid was coming loose and she messily retied the rubber band. "So, I guess that means Angel took off?”

“Yeah, he split,” Faith answered. “I haven’t heard from anyone else. Let’s hope Gwen and Beth got the javelin. Cause you know, Angel will go for the knife with or without it.”

Buffy agreed. No question Angel would stick to the mission whatever the odds were, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

A deafening screech cut through the air and pulled their thoughts away from the missing vampire. It had come from a demon the shape of a giant praying mantis that was fighting with three Slayers in the ruins of the Staples Center. But it wasn’t the girls who had caused the dismay. There was something else. The earth underneath the monster wobbled, and the demon lashed out erratically with its claws. The Slayers evaded the hits, the mantis extended translucent wings and took off. The Slayers tried to keep their balance on the shifting ground, but quickly scrambled to the side when the strength of the movements increased. Where they just fought, a hole appeared. Clumps of earth and stones and pieces of concrete flew through the air. From underneath the surface, the giant worm demon they had face two weeks ago burrowed itself out of the ground. The beast raised itself to its full height and roared.

Slayers and demons alike ran for their lives.

Connor lifted his sword. “Better get ready for the big guy.” 

Buffy picked up her own weapon and took a step forward. “Anyone got a flame thrower?” The worm was larger than Wilkins had been, but she wouldn’t let it get away a second time.

The demon, however, hadn’t even noticed her as a relevant opponent. All its attention was focused on an object in the distance.

A white bolt that was flying straight towards it. 

Like a missile, the bolt soared across the battlefield at incredible speed, circumventing Slayers and demons, until it reached its target and shot right through one of the worm’s many eyes. 

The demon roared again, this time more angry. 

The missile swerved above the demon’s head, returned and hit it a second time, then a third, a fourth, it hit the demon over and over until it had pierced the beast like a pincushion. 

The demon wavered and swayed, growling, biting into the air and at its attacker, but its desperate efforts were in vain. The missile was much too fast. The worm demon rose up once more to its full height, it careened, toppled over and hit the ground. 

The earth shook under its weight.

Cheers erupted across the battlefield. Maybe this would be the push the Slayers needed to turn the tide. 

Buffy tried to follow the white lightning as it buzzed through the sky and back to its dark origin. From off in the distance, another beast came charging towards them. A skeleton body on four legs. Giant antlers.

Two riders sat on the creature’s back, driving it on.

Fred and Gunn. Gunn holding a golden weapon. Fred raising herself up and catching the white lightning out of the air as it flew towards her. As soon as the bolt rested in her hand, it turned black. The javelin. They had the javelin. They had the mace. Everything was coming together.

The undead deer with Fred and Gunn on top, came to a halt next to Buffy, Conner, and Faith. 

“Gwen and Spike will be here soon, but we figured you needed help a bit faster than that,” Fred said.

That was true. Turning tide or not, the Slayers could definitely use some extra muscle on their side.

“What about Angel?” Buffy asked.

“We lost him on the way here.” 

Buffy felt her chest implode. All blood left her head. Her knees got weak. She dropped her sword. “Angel's dead?” 

“No! Not like that. We altered the plan. The mace didn’t break the knife, but Angel wanted to give it one last try.” Fred pointed at the entrance of the caves. “Fight fire with fire. If the knife really was forged from the bones of a god, a god’s bones might destroy it, too. We separated because someone had to go take care of the dome and the rifts in the meantime.”

Buffy suppressed the shaking in her body. She took two unsteady steps. Her gaze wandered over the battlefield and to the Slayers. She saw each of them in their intricate dance. Each punch thrown, each kick launched in slow-motion.

There was Satsu and Rona, fighting back to back. Willow shooting fireballs from her hands. Kaori and Eliza, and Maya. Vi taking two demons down with her crossbow. Rowena yelling orders. Urging the girls on. Reminding them to hold their defenses. The Slayers were doing much better than before. 

Buffy picked up her sword.

Her gaze hesitantly returned to the cave’s entrance, to the battlefield, back to the cave.

Faith grabbed Buffy's upper arm, her face stern. “Go,” she said, and then her expression softened. “Go and make sure he finishes this. Ro and I got the girls. We can lead them through the battle.”

Buffy nodded, and without another word she dashed off. She hadn't thought she could still run this fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to give you a heads up, chapter 38 and 39 will both be posted on Sunday. I figured that would be nicer than ending on a work/school night. Yay finale!


	38. Suitors At My Door

Buffy couldn’t believe how fast she’d made it to the burial chamber, rushing down chutes, climbing over dead demons and piles of rock, circumventing collapsed tunnel walls. The remnants of Willow’s spell lingered throughout the underground maze. Eternal flame she’d called it. A glamour that lightened up closed spaces, creating the illusion that everything was on fire. No wonder the demons had poured out of their hideout without much hesitation. Now all that remained of the magic was a disturbing brightness and fake flames licking up random stretches of earth every other yard. Buffy coughed as she tried to catch her breath. The stench of the decaying Kota had percolated the tunnels in all directions. After more than a month their corpses were turning into an unidentifiable molded mass.

When Buffy entered the tomb, Angel’s back was turned to the entrance of the chamber. He held the knife in one hand; in the other, he held a femur bone. The dim blue light washed out the contours of his body, turning him into shadowy shape hovering around the sarcophagus. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Angel sighed.

“Neither should you, but someone needs to finish this.” Buffy took a step closer towards him. 

Angel put the bone down on the rim of the coffin, turned around, and gave her a lopsided smile. “What do you think I’m doing?” He was favoring his right side, keeping the left stiff. The brawl at the mansion must have been more vicious than Buffy had thought. 

“Accidentally getting killed for all I know. You shouldn’t have left Spike and Faith behind. That wasn’t the plan.”

Angel tried to shrug, but stopped mid-motion. Something was wrong with his ribs. “I improvised. Did they make it okay?”

“They did. I also saw Fred, Gunn, and Connor. Team Angel is still alive and taking names. You should’ve really taken them with you.”

“I could have. But I didn’t want them near when...they might still need the Slayer Organization. So do you by the way. You’re supposed to be up on the field. Where everyone can see you.” 

“I’m improvising? And I was never here. I double-checked the perimeter, and then I got lost. Silly Buffy. But if we want to have a good cover, you need to look more roughed up than you do now. No one will believe that you destroyed the knife in a last-ditch effort otherwise.” 

Angel briefly touched his face, then his hand automatically slid down his flank.

Buffy clamped her sword between her knees, dug through her vest and pulled out a roll of blue gauze. “I thought you wanted to leave Connor out of this?” She started wrapping the knuckles of her right hand.

Angel groaned. “I did. But he’s so stubborn. He kept asking about the plan, until I figured it was safer to take him than leave him behind. It’s impossible to deter Connor once he sets his mind on something.”

“Tree meet apple.” Buffy finished bandaging her hand and stuffed the loose end under the rest of the gauze wrap. She curled and uncurled her fingers. Then she pulled on the gauze one more time to make sure it was tightly bound. “So, you think these bones might do the trick?”

“Since this is not Atakan, it can only be Osprey. It’s worth a try. We’ve had a case like this before...”

“Alright, let’s smash it,” Buffy interjected, punching with her fist into her left palm.

“You’re in a hurry?”

“I definitely have better things to do than hang out in stinky graves. Go out on a date, for example.”

Angel made a face like she had slapped him. “You have a date? With who?”

“Well, not a date-date. Actually, there’s no date at all. Even though I thought there might be, but...” Buffy’s hands and face got hot. 

“But…?”

“It’s always so complicated, right? I’m like a Head-Slayer now, complete with that whole Slayer destiny. The preordained mission that I need to put above everything else. And then there are all these things to consider. What kind of role model am I to the other girls? Am I making good choices? I just want to get things right. And I’ve been waiting to be finished baking or whatever, but what if that never happens? What if things are just naturally flawed? Or what if to take a step forward, I need to take a few steps back.” Buffy shifted her sword from her left hand to her right and wiped her hand off on her pant leg.

“You want to take back what happened?” Angel's expression was still confused.

Buffy shook her head. “No, I mean, more like actually start over at the start…” She inhaled. She exhaled. She sent a short and silent prayer to anyone who would hear it. “Let’s say there’s a place on Sunset that still serves coffee. I know that’s a crazy concept, but maybe we should have some. You and me. We should have some coffee some time.”

Angel looked at the ground, clearly trying to find the right reply.

Buffy’s mouth went dry. Her stomach clenched.

Angel looked up at her again. “Some time? When is that exactly?" He furrowed his brow. "Tomorrow? Or next Thursday? And should I wait two days before I call you back?” 

Buffy could almost see the tension leave Angel’s body, could see his shoulders relax. His disheveled dust-caked hair and the mischief on his face were almost boyish. He had a cut over his right eyebrow, and his lip was split, but the blood had already dried. The edges of a shiner were starting to show. But who cared. All signs of a fight would be gone in a couple of days at the most. 

She felt relief spread through her own body, and a flutter spread through her chest.

Angel said something about waiting a couple of days and his face and black eyes, but Buffy didn’t get all of it because half-way through the sentence Angel stopped talking, and his pupils constricted, and his smile morphed into a sneer.

A howl ripped through the cave. 

Buffy spun her head around. Angel stepped forward, jerked his arm up, and pushed her down. Buffy barely braced for the fall and hit the ground hard. From the corner of her eye, she saw a demon lurch above her and jump at Angel. How could she have not heard him approach? How could she have missed him? The demon was small and of a nondescript kind, hardly her own height, a stray drone from the hordes that must have gotten lost somehow. Buffy had slain dozens of its type in the last hours. Nothing Angel and she couldn’t handle. Taking this demon down was Slaying 101. 

But Angel was turned in an awkward angle from shoving her out of the way and when the demon body-checked him, he hissed, and it became apparent that his left side was almost useless in a fight. The demon and Angel clung to each other, embracing in an uncomfortable dance until Angel lost his balance.

The demon struggled for Angel’s right arm. 

Angel tumbled, dropped the knife and fell to his back. He screamed in pain when he hit the ground. The demon was still on him. 

Buffy scrambled up and grabbed her sword. 

Angel brought his left arm up to defend himself from the monster.

Buffy made two strides in their direction. 

Angel wriggled to get to the knife.

The demon snarled. 

She heard herself yell Angel’s name, but it sounded like a far off voice. Like someone else was calling for him. 

Angel reached for the knife, punched the demon with his left, but the creature’s clawed fingers darted out and grabbed the weapon first. 

Buffy raised her arms, her hands, she only had to strike the sword down.

With one hard blow, the demon rammed the knife into Angel’s abdomen, twisted it inside his belly, and started pulling up the blade towards his sternum. 

Angel made an unnatural sound of agony. 

Buffy swung the sword down with a vigor she didn’t know she held. The demon’s head dropped and rolled away on the cave floor. She pushed the carcass off of Angel and fell down on her knees beside him.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay,” she stammered more to reassure herself than to calm him down. When did her voice get so hysterical? “It’s just a flesh wound. Whatever’s in there. You don’t really need it. You don’t need it.” She looked at his ripped shirt, at his face distorted in pain.

Angel grabbed the hilt of the knife, and with a sickening smacking sound, he pulled the weapon from his belly. 

The wave of pain that hit Buffy was almost too much to take. A bright and hot lightning of pure agony split her body in half. She wanted to vomit, she couldn’t breathe, sweat broke out on her forehead. The pain radiated from her left wrist up her arm and spiraled around her shoulder. Her skin was searing and her muscles were going limp. 

Angel was withering on the ground. Grasping, gurgling, like he was drowning on dry land. He held the bloody knife in his hands for a heartbeat, then it dropped from his grasp.

Buffy pushed the pain down and gently moved her right hand over to Angel’s brow. “Angel? Talk to me. What’s happening?” She scooted onto her knees, bent over his body, and pulled up his shirt to uncover the wound. The gash in his belly was as long as her hand. Dark red blood seeped from it in ugly gurgling waves. So much blood. There shouldn’t have been so much blood. Obviously, this type of injury was lethal for a human, but Angel had been stabbed and shot and mauled before. He was a vampire. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

“Angel! Angel, talk to me. What do I need to do?” Buffy went over all the procedures they had gone through in Slayer training. She had to put pressure on the wound. She lowered her hands to his belly and pressed down. 

Angel screamed. 

It made no difference. The blood seeped through her fingers. Red, dark red, and then almost black -- not like normal blood. It was a sticky substance that turned into smoke as it left his body. It billowed around them like a cloud. It fluttered in gentle waves, circling around Angel. Buffy tried to disperse the smoky substance with her hand, but as soon as she parted the streams, they instantly reformed. Then they drifted off to the side.

Buffy bent over Angel’s face again and cradled his head in her hands. Her bloody fingers left red streaks on his skin. “Angel. We need to get out of here. Willow will know what to do. Can you get up? Please try for me.” She could barely lift her left arm now, let alone lift Angel. She moved her face close over his, gently stroked his jaw, his cheekbones, his forehead. He was burning up. 

“Angel. We really need to get up,” she whispered. 

Angel didn’t react. His eyes were wide in pain and terror, staring at something on the ceiling, staring right through her. Buffy had never seen him look so scared. Tears were pooling in the corners of his eyes, slowly running down his temples. He continued making wet wheezing sounds. 

His short, warm breath hit her face. 

Buffy froze. 

That wasn’t right.

A strange noise erupted from the other side of the cave and forced her attention away from Angel.

The smoke cloud had congealed in a corner. It seemed to settle, to harden, to take on the shape of a shadow. It wafted in all directions, strands like arms, like tentacles pulling out and pulling back in, until it had arrived at a form that vaguely resembled a man. 

Buffy grabbed Angel’s hand. 

The shadow made a low hissing sound. It overextended its neck to the back. Large jaws broke out from its head, fangs ejecting from the upper and lower mandible. The hissing became more guttural. It tilted its head left, right, a disoriented, angry bird made of tar.

“Yiiiie,” it hissed.

Buffy picked up her sword.

“Yiiiee oooh.” The shadow continued, the sound first quiet and brittle, then becoming more defined. “Fiiiiee. Fiiiiee. B...bb….B….Buuu...Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy.” It went through a whole range of Buffy-sounds. Croaky. Soft. Deep. Dark. 

Buffy stood up and stepped around Angel’s body. She wiped her bloody hands off on her pants and held her sword tighter.

The creature crawled towards them. Slinking like a cat. Sniffing, trying out its legs. Passing Angel. Taking in the scents from all directions, it moved over to Buffy, stopped right in front of her, got up on its hind legs, and shoved its face close to hers.

They were of one height now.

The creature struggled; the effort of what came next almost too great. “Buffy?” A gentle question, confused and hurt. A voice so similar to Angel’s that it sent chills down Buffy’s spine.

She stared at the muzzle in front of her. The fangs that had let out this familiar sound. Her eyes briefly darted over to where Angel lay. 

He was still shaking, but the withering was dying down.

The creature pounced on Buffy.

She fell back and hit the ground with the beast on top. The blow pushed the air out of her lungs, and it took her all she had to raise her arms in time, and stop the creature from ripping her head off.

It bit into Buffy's lower right arm, tearing at her flesh, drawing blood. It lunged at her with raging fists. Hitting the side of her head once, twice, three times. Until Buffy thought she was passing out.

Buffy pulled up her legs underneath the creature and kicked it off in a desperate move. It dropped back disoriented, then its gaze fell on Angel, and it sprang on top of him instead. The creature snatched Angel up at the front of his shirt and shook him so violently Buffy thought it would break him in half.

Angel made a choking sound. 

The creature pulled him closer and sniffed his face, licked up the blood on his brow. It bellowed at Angel with utter and grueling fury, not lion, not harpy, not man, a sound of nightmares. It hit Angel’s chest with its fists. It hit the ground next to him, throwing up clumps of dirt. The creature’s anger was only getting worse. It slunk down from Angel’s body and began turning in erratic circles next to him.

“Buffy. Buffy. Buffy. Go. Go. Let. Go. Let go! Let go!” The words were discernible at first, but the sounds became more uncontrolled, as were the creature’s moves. It hit its own head with violent jerky punches. It wailed low anguished howls of sorrow, it began stroking Angel, gently touching him, caressing his body.

Buffy found the sight almost more terrifying than the outburst of rage just moments before. The shadow looked like a man in despair over a lover’s death. Bemoaning a separation so violent it tore you apart. 

Buffy’s left arm pulsed. Her gaze flitted from wrist to elbow. She must have overseen a wound, but there was no blood, there wasn’t even a scratch. 

The creature rubbed up to Angel purring. It crawled on top of him, covering his chest and his face with its own dark shape. It raised its arms and moved its hands around Angel’s neck, applying pressure, trying to suffocate him.

It didn’t make any sense. Angel was dead. He didn’t need to breathe.

Buffy pulled herself up, sword in her bleeding right hand. She took a step closer. One step and she could strike it down. It had no weapon. Where was the knife? As long as the knife was out of its reach, she would be fine. As long as the demon couldn’t get to the knife, she could handle anything else. She just had to keep it from hurting Angel’s body. Those were the three things she had to focus on.

The knife. The demon. The body. The knife. The demon. The body. The knife. The demon. The demon. The demon.

The realization hit her, like a bullet to the stomach.

Bile rose up in her throat, and it took her all her self-restraint to keep from throwing up. But she had hesitated too long. 

The demon noticed her approach, turned away from Angel, and lunged at her once more. 

This time Buffy was faster. She evaded her attacker, swung around, kicked him hard mid-jump and send the demon flying. Buffy took one step, a second step, and struck the sword down. 

The demon wriggled away, and the sword only grazed his side. He scooted backward and got up again. 

Buffy went after him with more force. She raised her arm to deal another blow, but he blocked her with his claw. His right arm darted forward and hit her in the stomach. 

Buffy doubled over. 

The demon grabbed her hair and pulled her head down, jerked up his leg, ramming his knee into her face with a crunch. Blood spattered from Buffy’s nose, and the demon shoved her to the ground.

He snarled as he leaned over Buffy, and the corners of his mouth pulled into a toothy grin. Spittle trickled down his fangs, the smell of decay and rot simmered between them. A vulture waiting for the tired animal to drop. He was enjoying this.

It would not take long now.

Buffy felt dizzy. Her left arm was throbbing painfully, as a new surge of fire spread from her shoulder to her fingertips. She was sure the demon must have ripped her entire arm off, leaving only a bloody stump behind. Buffy knew she had to move, to fight, to end this, but neither her arms nor her legs were the subjects of her will anymore. 

The demon leaned in, until his mouth was right next to her ear. “Buff. I said. Let. Him. Go.” A voice she would have known anywhere, with all the wrong intonations. It had haunted her in her sleep for months. Sometimes it still came to her in her nightmares.

The demon raised his body back up and lifted his right arm to deal the final blow. The movement must have been swift, but to Buffy, it all happened in fascinating slow motion. She could make out tiny details on the demon’s body. How its darkness was so finite that a black hole must have sucked in all the light around him. How brilliant each claw was. Razor-sharp blades that would slice her open with no effort at all. She found his eyes. Empty caverns that only reflected her own image, trembling and scared. An old memory scurried through Buffy’s mind like a flickering light. Their last fight, forever ago. She had won that battle because beneath her desperation she had found that there was always something left. She rallied the quiet determination she had felt then. She would not go down. Not like this. And she would never relent Angel to this monster, whatever the...

Without a sound, the blade of her sword burst from the demon’s chest, stopping inches from her face. 

Buffy gasped. 

The demon chortled and raised himself up, startled by the attack. 

The blade sliced upward through his torso and excited at his shoulder, severing his neck, head, and arm. Before the two pieces slid apart, the body exploded in a cloud of dust, and an ashen shower rained down on Buffy and the cave floor.

Angel stood above her. Motionless, his face a mask, only his chest followed an automatic movement of shivering and heaving. He stared at Buffy, then turned his gaze to his sword-hand. The string slid out from underneath his sleeve. Blood had soaked through the front of his shirt and was trickling to the ground. The wet drip-drop echoed through the chamber. Angel looked back at Buffy, at his bloodied, dirty hands, at Buffy. He swallowed, his lips moved, but no words left his mouth. Instead, there was only a quiet hick-up. 

Buffy’s arm burned. Her gaze flitted to her hand, the red string tied around her wrist. She looked back up at Angel. A sight so familiar and reassuring like coming home.

_Let‘s say I‘m a friend. Do you think I want something to happen to you? I'll always be with you. Can I do anything? I can stay in town as long as you want me. Shoulder to shoulder. I'm yours._

It had always been the same.

_I’m here. What do you need?_

The sword dropped to the ground, and Angel followed, first sinking to his knees, then landing on his side with an eerie thud. 

Not bracing. 

Not moving. 

An empty husk.


	39. Ithaca

Down here was only darkness. A darkness so infinite it enwrapped everything it touched. Like an insatiable beast, it had devoured Buffy and the world she knew. It had swallowed light and sound and time. 

After what felt like an eternity, she finally moved. She crawled over to Angel. She shoved his body as hard as she could, turned him on his back. She grasped his hand. She yelled at him, and she promised everything she had to offer. It made no difference. She got no reaction in return.

Angel’s face was pale and lifeless, covered in dirt and scratches. His arms and legs were limp. His abdomen was oozing blood. Could vampires bleed to death? What happened when all of it had left his body? Would he just fall to ashes? Was he even a vampire without his demon? Or just a shell of flesh? Buffy could feel a static hum around them. She could feel how time and death and decay had halted for two and a half centuries, but now continued their course. Forever flowing. Unraveling. Fading out. A piece of string ripping, fiber by agonizing fiber.

Buffy tried to focus on her body, tally her injuries. Her nose was broken, she couldn’t move her left arm, and something deep and dark was draining her. Super-human strength or not, there was no way she could carry Angel out of the cave. She could hardly move her own weight. The best thing would be to go looking for help.   
She only had to get up first. 

Maybe if she rested, she would find the strength.

Not for a long time, just rest a little bit. 

Just a little while.

* * *

Buffy stirred when she heard the crunching footsteps. Voices in the distance.

“Where did she go?”

“I thought you were supposed to stick with her?”

“I was trying, but Faith sent her away.” 

“And I’m just saying again, they might not wanna be found. We better not walk into some...”

“Hold up. Is that her?” 

A male voice. Buffy knew that voice. More footsteps. Faster.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” 

She knew that voice, too. It belonged to a woman. She just couldn’t come up with her name.

Something dropped next to Buffy’s body, and the ground slightly shook. Something brushed her face. A cool hand touched her forehead. 

“Buffy?”

A grip on her wrist. Fingers on the side of her throat. ‘I’m okay’ she wanted to say, but no sound left her mouth.

Words passed back and forth over Buffy’s body, buzzing like flies. She didn’t know what they meant. Something soft moved under her head. Someone touched her neck again. Her chest. She stirred. Alive. Who was alive? What did that mean anyway? Dead? Alive? It was all the same. One moment they were alive and the next...

“Oh god, oh god A! A! Angel, talk to me!”

Were they calling Angel? How useless. She laughed hoarsely. But they didn’t hear. ‘He’s dying. He can’t answer you.’ Did they not see? Could they not feel it? He was stuck in a place between life and death, and it would take nothing to move him to the other side. Time would even do it for them. They just had to wait.

Buffy heard the male voice again. The cold hand returned to her forehead, gently moved down to her cheek. Caressed her face. It smelled like cigarettes and blood.

“We’re here now luv, we’re here now. But you need to let go. You need to let go of his hand.”

Fingers moved in between her fingers and tried to pry them open. What was she holding anyway? She wasn’t holding anything, only Angel’s hand. She had to hold Angel’s hand or he would fall. There was a chasm. And flames. Hadn’t they seen what happened to the horse?

“Jesus, I think she broke his fingers.”

“What the fuck happened here?”

“Angel? Angel, come on, dude. Angel? Can you hear me? Faith, you need to come back here. Feel this. You need to feel this!”

“Fucking hell. What did they do? You can’t tell me this runt fucked them up like this?”

“Do you think there is some bigger monster down here? If so, where did it go?”

“Where is the knife? Did he at least break that bloody knife?”

“I think Buffy’s coming back.”

“Buffy? Buffy, can you hear us? Buffy, can you get up?”

Get up. She had to get up. She wanted to get up, but she was also tired. Her lids were heavy as tombstones. The back of her head had melted into the rocky ground. If only there was some strength left, she could move. There was always something. Somewhere deep down. She just had to find it. She had to get up if she didn’t want to go down. She wouldn’t relent. Not like this.

Buffy opened her eyes.

* * *

Anwar stretched out his arms behind his back and yawned. Dawn was already breaking.

“You ready to head home?” Sheryl placed her stethoscope around her neck and stepped over to the counter. Her pink Sketchers squeaked on the linoleum floor.

"Yeah, I think that was my last consultation for the night. It's been a long shift." After the emergency appendectomy at 1 a.m., Anwar hadn’t bothered to go back to sleep. His schedule was already a mess anyway. Ever since the earthquakes started, half the doctors of the hospital had disappeared. Everyone who had the means, had fled the city this time.

"The ER has been pretty quiet all things considered,” Sheryl noted.

Most of the blue curtains around the ten emergency beds were drawn open. Except for a child with a broken arm and the middle-aged man with abdominal pain, who they’d just examined, there were currently no patients requiring immediate attention. It didn’t come as a complete surprise. Most people wouldn’t venture out tonight, even if their life depended on it. They had all heard it earlier. The rumble. The explosions. Rumors were making the rounds that a large brawl was happening downtown. 

"I wouldn’t show up either, if I didn’t feel excruciating guilt about playing hooky. Every time I call in sick, I can practically hear my parents’ disappointed moans all the way from Houston. Not that it will matter. They’ll probably have to close Keck soon enough. I don't think people are coming back this time."

"You guys are looking to leave, too?" Sheryl peeked up from the computer, as she typed in her notes into the patient’s file.

"I wanted to start looking for other options months ago, but you know Rachel. She’s adamant we give something back. She says we’re not done here yet. Especially after... I don't disagree with her.” Anwar shrugged “But maybe we can give something back in a place that’s less life-threatening?"

The sound of an approaching siren cut him off.

"Ah, looks like you’re getting your excitement after all." 

“Oh, joy.” Sheryl locked the file and stepped out from behind the counter. “Get out of here, while you can and go home. Alex should be done with the little boy any minute now. We got this.” She put on a new set of medical gloves.

Screeching breaks announced the arrival of an ambulance, and only seconds later, the milky glass doors of the ER slid open, and an EMT pushed a gurney with a man inside. Another EMT stood on the stretcher, bent over the lifeless body, continuing CPR. 

Anwar started walking in their direction to pass them by. His shift was over. Sheryl and Alex would have it covered. Out of the corner of his eye, he briefly saw the patient. He looked bad. Serious car crash was his guess. Or maybe he got buried under a collapsed building.  
  
Nate started to recite their assessment of the patient’s status to Sheryl from behind the gurney. Anwar knew the EMT. He had been rerouted to their area when Cedars Sainai shut down.

"Patient is male in his twenties, cause of injuries unclear, currently not responsive, severe loss of blood, serious trauma to the lower abdomen, several fractures of the hands and ribs, crashed on the drive..." The EMT looked around to make sure that no patients were nearby. "Just call it," he whispered to Sheryl. "He’s been in and out of it, and we've been trying to get him to stabilize for more than 30 minutes. He‘s not coming back from this. At least not with his brain intact. We only took it this far cause his friends...” 

“They begged you?”

“More like threatened us.” He turned his head around to see if he’d been followed.

That's how it went. It was horrible and unfair, but sometimes there was just nothing you could do. Try as you might. And you better learned to live with that fact or the job would take you apart.

The sliding doors opened back up a second time. 

A young woman entered the emergency room. 

Anwar flinched. 

The woman’s face was cut and bruised. Her skin and her blonde hair were crusted with blood and grime. One arm hung down her body. Dislocated or paralyzed. The straps of her bulletproof vest were unfastened. One had been torn off. She limped, and although her black cargo pants made it hard to see whether her legs were injured, too, the large gashes and ripped fabric did indicate as much. In the fluorescent light, she looked like death itself.

The woman’s eyes and Anwar’s met, and he stopped in his tracks.

Where he’d expected to see an amalgamation of fear and hope, he encountered the quiet defiance of someone who knew exactly how bad this was. She was bracing for the imminence of an end. Maybe this wasn’t a car accident after all. These days people got injured all the time. They got attacked. They got taken.

Like Rachel had. 

Anwar turned back to the man on the gurney. He had looked slightly familiar. Sheryl, Sandra, and the EMTs had already hoisted the man onto a hospital stretcher and were moving him into a secluded bay. A second nurse was coming over. Sheryl cut up his shirt, placed electrodes on his upper body, and checked the vitals one more time. Sandra pulled off the Ambu bag and switched him to a hospital respirator.

That was him. 

Anwar looked back at the blonde woman. "Is that…?" What was the man's name again? It had been months.

"Angel. That’s Angel." 

The man who saved Rachel in the alley. Rachel’s grandma had known about him when they told her the weird story of the attack. She said he helped people. That he saved people that couldn’t save themselves. Anwar had replied that he’d never heard of LAs own Robin Hood. ‘Then you’ve been luckier than you appreciate,’ was all that Rachel’s grandma answered.

"Did he...save someone?" Anwar asked.

The woman nodded.

Anwar took a few steps back. "Sher." 

Sheryl didn't react. 

"Sher!" he said with more severity. "That's him. That's the guy who saved Rachel's life."

"For real? Damn. Anwar. I got nothing. And it's been too long."

The second nurse had already stopped chest compressions. 

Anwar pushed him to the side and took his place.

“Anwar!”

Anwar checked the man's breathing. His pulse. He moved the shreds of his shirt to the side. Lifted the gauze on his belly. The cut was deep. That wasn’t a car accident. He hit his chest on the left side with his fist. Once. Twice. Three times. Something cracked. Anwar started pushing the ribcage down in rhythmic motions again.

"Did you give him epinephrine?" he called over to the medics that were about to leave the ER.

The EMTs stared at him like he was crazy. "Of course, we gave him epinephrine. You think this is our first day on the job?"

Anwar didn’t answer. "Okay. Let's go again. Let’s do 3 milligrams,” he said to no one in particular.

"That’s more than double the dosage. That’s against protocol." Now Sheryl, too, looked at him like he had lost his marbles.

"I know. I know, Sher. Let's go again. We have nothing to lose.” As he said it, a cold chill gripped Anwar. ‘We do. We have everything to lose,’ a voice whispered inside his head. 

Sheryl's face said she wanted to argue, but then she decided against it, brought a syringe over and injected the medication straight into the man’s arm. 

Anwar hit his chest with his fist once more. Twice. Three times. 

The monitor next to the gurney beeped.

“Oh. I can’t believe this. Maybe you’re onto something." Sheryl’s eyes widened as she turned to the nurse. "Sandra, get us more saline.” 

Anwar continued with the rhythmic motions, and the machine beeped again.

In the meantime, Alex had moved away from the child and was coming towards them now. “Sher? You guys need help?”

“Call the OR, looks like we’re coming up after all.” Sheryl pushed a crash cart over and put more electrodes on the man’s chest. “Step back!”

An electric surge went through the man’s body. The monitor beeped and continued beeping.

“One more time,” Sheryl called and pushed the button again.

Another surge. The monitor made more beeping sounds. Good God.

“I’d say that has to be enough for now.” Sheryl quickly pulled off the electrodes, and she and the nurses started pushing the gurney towards the elevator.

Anwar followed them with hasty steps, then he turned to the blonde woman one more time. 

She stood rooted in the same spot as before. 

She hadn’t moved at all.

* * *

  
Buffy stood motionless in the middle of the ER. How long had she been here? Minutes? Hours? The EMTs had said something to her about getting checked out herself before they left, but she couldn’t move her feet. Since then, no one had come to speak to her. Until now. She felt someone move behind her, something brush her hand. Fingers interlocked with her own and squeezed them gently.

“You don’t have to be here,” Buffy whispered. “We’re all tired and you...you don’t even like him that much.”

“But you do, luv. You do.” Spike smiled at her guardedly. He did look tired and beaten up. There were cuts and bruises all over his skin. His clothes were a mess. “Also, he’s been growing on me. You know. Like a one-eyed cat from the humane society that bites you and shits into your living room, but you can’t bring yourself to put down.” He nudged Buffy over to an empty waiting area, made her sit on a hard plastic chair, and got her a cup of water from a plastic dispenser. They sat in silence for a while before Spike continued. “The first one or two years after I got the soul, I always wondered why he was such a bloody drama queen about it. It sucked, but it was manageable. And then one day, out of nowhere, the guilt hits. One moment you’re playing poker with a group of Chaos demons and the next...” Spike moved his hands together, simulating an explosion. “I have no idea how he did it by himself. He’s still a pompous ass, but he grates me less than he used to.”

Time continued to stand still. The nurses returned to the emergency room, discharged a patient, but didn’t seem to want to talk to them. Tattered magazines from six months ago lay splayed out on an oval plastic table, but Buffy couldn’t have read a single sentence if her life depended on it. Whenever she looked at the clock on the wall, she was certain the hands were in the same spot as before. 

At some point Faith and Connor arrived. They looked as worn out and weary as Spike and slunk down in the chairs next to them, too tired to talk. 

Alex, the doctor, came back and brought Buffy over to one of the ER beds, where she cleaned the wounds on Buffy’s face and bandaged her hands and arms. Buffy let everything happen without paying any attention to what was being done. Only when Alex suggested that Buffy should get x-rays and an ultrasound, did Buffy speak up. Not now. Not now. She couldn’t leave now. Couldn’t relax.

Buffy had just returned to the waiting area when Gunn and Gwen walked in through the sliding doors, steps hesitant, as if they had come to a funeral.

“Is it for real?” Gwen asked.

No one dared to say it out loud, but they all knew what she meant.

“I don’t know.” Connor combed with his fingers through his hair. “We couldn’t find Willow, and we didn’t know where else to go, what else to do. It’s kind of a long shot.” He tried to chuckle at the impossibility he was describing, but the sound got stuck in his throat.

Gunn shook his head in disbelief. “Does he always have to make things this grueling? I like suspense as much as the next guy, but this is getting ridiculous. You all need to cheer up, though. He’s hard to kill. I mean, I’m sure all of us have tried at one time or another.” That at least elicited some smiles, even though no one dared to laugh.  
Just making sounds felt wrong right now. They were all holding their breath.

“So, what do you want us to do?” Faith finished her fifth vending machine coffee and stacked the plastic cup on the small pyramid she had erected on the ground.

“What do you mean?”

“Angel’s out. So. You’re boss. What do you want us to do?”

“I thought we were still counting on him coming back. I say we leave it as it is.”

“Boss is boss?”

Gunn nodded. “Unless you object to the last task he gave you. Then we should talk about that.”

Connor, Faith, and Spike shook their heads.

“Okay. Fred and Willow are still searching and closing the rifts in the city. The Slayers have pretty much beaten down the whole demon army. Gwen and I will check if anyone needs a hand. Call us when our boy starts walking on water.” 

As they headed out, Buffy turned to Faith. “What was the last order?”

Faith got up to get her sixth coffee and gave her a coy smile. “Stay with Buffy.”

* * *

“Party of Liam Kane? Liam Christopher Kane?” The nurse entered the waiting room for the second time, looking for a patient’s family. Buffy didn’t recognize her freckled face from earlier. They must have had a shift change.

Next to her Spike had dozed off in two adjacent chairs, but now he stirred and groggily raised his hand. “Oh, ‘spose this is us then?”

“Huh?” Connor said, looking up from the paper fortune teller he had folded from the pages of Time magazine.

Spike raised his hand higher for the woman to see. The nurse gave him a nod and then waved at someone in the hallway.

Faith and Buffy eyed the vampire with equal confusion. 

Spike sat up straighter and unfolded his jacket that he’d used as a pillow. “What? That’s his name.” 

Buffy rubbed her face. “Oh yeah, the fake ID. Good thinking. Did you put that down on that form they gave us?” She had ignored the clipboard when another nurse handed it to them earlier, too dazed to come up with any answers to the questions. She couldn’t have answered them anyway.

“Of course I did. It’s his name and I figured...”

“That’s what I just said.” 

“And I’m saying that’s his name. Liam Criostóir Kane is Angel’s name. I know you people forget, but the likes of us were real boys once.” He pointed at himself. “William Pratt.” Then into the empty hallway. “Liam Kane.”

Buffy stared at him.

“Some dweep at Wolfram & Hart thought it was funny to get us fake IDs with our real names. You should have seen Angel’s face when they handed it to him and with English spelling,” Spike snorted, obviously enjoying the memory. “Didn’t know if he was gonna kill the guy right there or make his death slow and painful.” 

“Angel has a last name?” Buffy was still not comprehending what she’d just been told.

“Most people do, luv. What did you think it was? Angel McAngelson?” He looked from Buffy to Connor and Faith. The latter two seemed similarly confused. “Don’t tell me, none of you knew either.” Spike rolled his eyes “Oh, bloody hell. But you do know he used to be a 26-year old fabrics-merchant from Galway?”

No one said anything.

“That he digs Gulliver’s Travels, because he read that printed piece of boredom 27 times when he was a little, pious dipshit? And doesn’t want to watch soccer because he fears he’s going to get into it too much?”

Buffy, Faith, and Connor shifted in their seats.

“Are you telling me that between the four of us, I’m the leading Angel expert? That’s complete bollocks.”

Someone cleared their throat. “Excuse me?” They looked up to see that the nurse had come closer towards them. Buffy and Connor slowly got up.

“You’re the party of Liam Kane?” she asked again. Her expression was one between pity and trepidation.

They nodded.

“Are you relatives?” 

Connor swallowed, licked his lips. “We’re his family.”

“I see. The doctor will be here --”

Behind the nurse, a tall, lanky man slouched into the waiting area. He was still dressed in his blue scrubs, cap, and a facial mask. For a moment, he said nothing. The nurse cleared her throat again and pointed at her face. The doctor quickly pulled his mask down. It was the same man who had been in the ER earlier tonight.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He exhaled and moved his hand over his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and dark shadows were forming underneath them. “It’s been a long night. You’re with Li...Angel?”

“You know him?” Conor asked.

“Yes..no...he saved...a couple of weeks ago he saved my girlfriend.”

All of them nodded in understanding. That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Not for any of them.

“How…?” Connor didn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes. Right.” The doctor picked back up where he’d left off. His body was swaying a little. “So, just so you know. I’m Dr. Anwar Alvi, and I’m a general surgeon at this hospital. I’m going to try and make this brief. If you would like more details later, we can make an appointment or you can give me a call, and I can explain all the procedures.” 

Buffy felt like all air had been sucked out of the waiting room. The lights were suddenly so bright they hurt her eyes.

“The injuries Angel sustained were substantial and life-threatening. Among them were several broken bones, lacerations and contusions, a punctured lung, and critical trauma to the lower abdomen. On arrival, he also suffered from severe blood loss and was in cardiac arrest. Do you have any questions so far?” 

They shook their heads.

“During surgery, we managed to stop the gastrointestinal bleeding, through the removal of part of his lower bowel. Unfortunately, we could not save....”

“Mate!” Spike interjected “Didn’t you say brief? Get to the bloody point. Nobody cares about the bloody surgery. Is he going to be alright?”

“At this point...I can’t…”

“Well, what can you tell us?”

A heartbeat that felt like an eternity passed. 

The doctor pulled off his cap and took a deep breath. “Angel is alive. He is in critical condition, but right now he is alive.”

The room began to turn in front of Buffy’s eyes. The furniture and the posters on the wall became blurry. She thought she was going to faint. She mustn’t have heard right. “How do you know?” she asked.

“Uh. How I...what?”

“How do you know he is alive?” Buffy repeated. There must have been a catch. Maybe he confused the patients. In a second or two, he would tell her that he’d been mistaken.

“Well, there are three main medical indicators. We have a brainwave, respiratory function, although currently assisted, and a heartbeat. Those are the clinical…”

“Angel has a heartbeat?” Blood rushed to Buffy’s head, drumming in her ears. Next to her Connor was trembling, trying hard to keep his composure.

“Well...is that a surprise? Shouldn’t he?” The doctor looked completely lost.

“Can we see him?” Connor asked.

“I’m sorry. Not right now. We’re still moving him to the ICU. He’s currently in a medically induced coma, to help the healing process. We just have to take it one day at a time and...”

“Pray to the Powers?” Buffy blurted out. She almost had to laugh when she heard herself say the words, but she didn’t know why she thought the notion was funny. 

The doctor opened his mouth, closed it again. His face suddenly very solemn. “Just pulling through this surgery...we have very good doctors here, but that was more than skill or luck. I’d say, whoever you’ve been praying to has already listened.”

Buffy nodded absentmindedly. In the back of her head, a small voice told her that she should be excited. That this was good. That this changed everything. But she didn’t feel good. Or bad. She didn’t feel at all. She didn’t know if she was hurt or well. There was surely something else she needed to ask. The doctor moved his hands as he explained what the coming days would entail to Connor. The two men stood incredibly far away. She couldn’t even make out the words they exchanged. The doctor’s hand made a cutting gesture and then formed a circle. The mask and cap in his hands swayed like tiny sails. His scrub clothes were the bright blue of the ocean. A blue man Buffy thought.

“You said Angel was alright?” Buffy interjected once more.

The doctor turned to her with a concerned expression, as if he was worried more about her than Angel. “For now he’s alright. It’s alright.”

“Alright,” Buffy said “Alright.”

Her right hand moved over to her left wrist in an automatic motion. She grabbed the little red ribbon, twirled it around her fingers to get a better hold, and with what felt like inhuman exertion, she ripped the string apart. 

For a second, she could feel all of her body. 

The excruciating ache in her left arm, the stinging sensation in her upper belly, the throbbing in her skull. 

And then it was gone. 

A bright white light spread out from the middle of her chest, and the pain vanished.

She couldn’t even remember what it had felt like just seconds before. 

Alright. 

Maybe everything was going to be alright. 

After all, Angel was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) If you made it to this point, kudos to you! That was one long story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who supported me while writing, editing, and posting _Far From Home_ . I’ve worked on this fic for more than a year, and while I clearly put in a ton of the hours (tbh I lost count on how many), I couldn’t have done it without you. 
> 
> Thank you to thewiggins and andtheyfightcrime for early beta-reading and giving me valuable input. 
> 
> And a big thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments on the way, and especially Searsha, headsupheelsdown and gracenm. Turns out writing is a team effort.
> 
> 2) I might update the story with an appendix and a bonus chapter (the prologue I cut) in the coming weeks. So don’t be confused when the story suddenly expands. This is just a little extra that I think could be fun. The main story is definitely over (unless there is a sequel in the future...you never know)
> 
> 3) Last, but not least, if you feel like this ending needed more fluff, you can head over my one-shot _Four.Oh._ It might or might not be set in the _Far From Home_ universe.


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